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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003205">Only Stars Die In Vegas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardoftherealm/pseuds/bastardoftherealm'>bastardoftherealm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gang AU, Guns, Manipulation, back to my bread and butter kids, background relationship that are mention but not explictly, but it won't entirely be angst, family dynamics but it's a GANG, grifters, marked mature mainly for language and violence in later chapters, more characters and tags to be added as it goes on, possible depictions of violence, wait: tommy typical swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:59:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>59,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardoftherealm/pseuds/bastardoftherealm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His entire life, Tommy had wanted his name to mean something, and for years, he learned to grift and lie his way through life to get to that place. When the scheme he'd been planning for three months went wrong, he thought everything was over. </p><p>Until the man that caught him offered him and his partner a job with the infamous DREAM.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (background/implied), Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Tommyinnit &amp; Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MCYT Fic Rec</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy stared at his reflection in the mirror of the hotel bathroom, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. He sucked in a breath before letting it out again, trying to ease his breathing until it came normally again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t get nervous anymore, at least he’d dissociated from the feeling a long time ago. He was just somewhere near excited, his heart pounding so hard he was almost worried it might pop. He cracked his knuckles a few times, hoping from one foot the other as he let the feeling in his stomach settle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled out his phone and set it on the counter as he grabbed for the hair gel that sat against the mirror. A few taps and he’d started up a call with the contact in his phone currently labeled “Uncle T”. It only took a few seconds before the call connected, and a voice answered, sounding more than a bit nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, what the hell-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo!” He grinned at himself in the mirror as he began putting pomade into his hair. “How ready are you for tonight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure calling me like this is safe?” Tubbo’s voice dropped in volume as Tommy could hear clattering in the background. “I don’t want to have wasted three months only for you to botch it like this now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine,” he drew out the last word. “We’ve got everything covered, and soon enough we’ll be somewhere far away with enough money for at least the next few years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but then we’ll just have to do it over again.” Tubbo muttered something under his breath. “Why did I let you talk me into this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you think I’m awesome,” Tommy replied. “And you’d follow me anywhere, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo grumbled again, but answered with a quiet, “yeah I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy picked up his phone and flicked the lights off in the bathroom, tossing the jar of hair gel into the bag that lay open on his bed. He threw open the curtains as he held his phone in the crook of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Las Vegas skyline spread out before him in all of its lights and glory. “Tonight’s the only night that matters, Tubbo, we have to remember that. Everything is riding on us pulling this off, alright?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, it’s not like you haven’t driven it into my head over and over again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what you’re doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know what I’m doing, stop worrying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to squeal like a little girl. I'm so excited.” He pulled the phone away from his face and practically shouted into the receiver. “No more hotel, no more worries.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you have fun getting your arse in a twist, I’ve actually got a job to do. My shift’s about to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tommy pushed his phone back up to his ear. “Good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo disconnected the call, and Tommy was left alone facing the skyline. Shit, time had really flown. He straightened his bowtie in the mirror in the hall, before turning back to the empty hotel room that had been his home for three months. “Goodbye old friend,” he murmured to it. Tommy pressed three of his fingers to his lips before pressing them against the mirror. “Wish me luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left his hotel room and entered into that eerie hotel stillness, with the bag that carried the last of his things hefted over his shoulder. Tommy passed by drunk hotel-goers coming home for the evening, and even more going back out for another night of ragers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the stairwell was the openmouthed entrance to the Osprey Casino, where the lights shifted from fluorescent to low lighting, the room a deep purple, and filled with the sounds of people losing money. He took in a final breath, and pushed through the barrier, and into the casino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It smelled like booze and air that was just a little too clean, with a smack of cigar smoke here and there. The lack of clocks, the machines tuned to the pleasing key of C, all timed to go off just enough that it seemed like someone was always winning. Tommy was obsessed. If he hadn’t grown up loving the grift, maybe he’d have gotten into the casino business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid into a seat at the nearest poker table, and nodded at the dealer to deal him in. Tommy barely paid attention as he tried his best to get his bearings on the surroundings, any quick exits he might need to take, who was on duty that night, what kinds of people were coming in that evening. He glanced down at his cards, he’d barely been paying enough attention to see what he should play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed at hand and said a quiet, “fold,” under his breath. Odds weren’t in his favor right now, and he was really hoping they wouldn’t stay that way. He looked down at his phone in his pocket to check the time, finishing up the next round before coloring up the chips he’d won and heading to grab a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bar was a better vantage point anyway, but it would’ve looked weird if he’d only sat here all night and then only joined the table when the mark arrived. He took a quick glance behind him to see a familiar face standing behind the high-sided table that was used to pull in high rollers by the casino staff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They said outwardly that it was because they wanted their customers of a certain ilk to feel like they were rubbing elbows with people who could hold up the cash. Tubbo had told him that in actuality it was because it was easier to monitor the cameras there, so that any grifter like him couldn’t swoop in and talk a drunken high roller to broke. It was why Tommy had been practicing at the high roller table since Tubbo had gotten hired here, to appear as if he were just a local with cash to burn. It was why they’d planned it like this, taken so long for this one night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night that would change everything for them. Maybe they’d have enough money to get an apartment somewhere nice for once. It wasn’t to say that the hotel wasn’t, but it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tommy wanted something to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> for once, and he was more than happy to have a million-billionaire finance his lifestyle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he finished his drink, Tommy knew it was time. He set down some cash on the table, cussed out basic ass club soda being five dollars under his breath, and headed over to his table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dealer was a mousy haired kid who was barely just above five and a half feet, and nearly a head shorter than himself. He wore a crisp white shirt with a purple vest and black tie, the colors of the casino, and was flipping cards between his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend, and his literal partner in crime looked more nervous than normal, half wide eyes trying to not flit around the room every few seconds. He kept brushing his hair out of his face with his hand, but when Tommy shot him a pointed look, Tubbo’s hand fell to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve practiced this.” Tubbo muttered under his breath as his hands flew over the cards. He moved them as if by magic, stacking, folding, shuffling, and Tommy could tell he wasn’t even paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just nodded and gestured for Tubbo to deal him in. He could practically see Tubbo going over their code in his mind as he subconsciously went through the action. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taps on the table, call; twisting ring, check; cracking knuckles, fold. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They went through a few rounds of practice as Tommy ran his own checks in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mark was a man by the name of Chuck West. Head of Silicane, the biggest tech company this side of the states. Highest roller of the high rollers. Preferred Game: Poker. Weakness: Taking it one more round. High stakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had found out about him after working with another grifter he went way back with, who told him about this white whale he could never catch. Every year in the first week of December, West and his lackeys would come to the Osprey Casino and drop millions in one night. His friend had reckoned that if he were able to play it right, he could end up with half that cash, maybe more, at the very least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suffice it to say, Tommy knew he had to bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his head almost on instinct, and he watched one of the casino’s ‘floor experience curator’, (or the overly ego-inflated way of saying floor manager), lead a 50-something year old man in a black suit towards their table. His small entourage of advisors and friends followed after him, but Tommy could easily pick the man out of the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slightly balding, with fair blond-brown hair and a pair of glasses that covered pitchy brown eyes. Chuck West.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor manager, (there was no way in hell Tommy was saying experience curator), Tommy had gotten to know well, he’d gotten to know most of them over the few months, memorizing their shifts, their names, their temperaments. This one in particular had always fancied himself to be the next big deal in the casino world, just simply here temporarily before he would climb the ropes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t particularly like Tommy either. The man had apparently pegged Tommy as a man with money, but not enough money to be considered one of their whales. Tommy didn’t mind, he liked playing the character he’d created for this, a daft, foolhardy Texan who liked to game hard and win big.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Innit!” The manager blinked at him over and over again, the kind of expression that was barely able to hide his distaste. “I’m surprised to see you here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprised to see you too.” Tommy bellowed out in his best Texan accent, and nearly watched Tubbo lose it behind him. “Just playing myself here a game of hold’em.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chuck West,” the man held out a hand to Tommy. “What do you work in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur Innit,” Tommy gave his best five-star grin. “I’m not much of a business man myself, but my father’s, uh, in the oil business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, a trust fund kid, eh?” He let go of Tommy’s hand and elbowed some of his fellow businessmen. “I’ve got plenty of those!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy laughed along with them, his skin crawling the entire time. “You a poker man?” He began shifting himself so that Chuck would take the seat to his left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very much so,” Chuck did exactly what he’d hoped, plopping down into the chair without a second thought. He looked over to his group of lackeys as the floor manager seemed to bend to his words. “Well boys, I think we’ve found our table.” Chuck nodded towards Tubbo. “Deal us in would ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, of course.” Tubbo said in his most frightened, mechanical voice. Tommy shot him a look as soon as Chuck and friends were distracted. He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm down</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and watched as Tubbo nodded and squared his shoulder, and began dealing two cards to each player. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy then began squaring up the other players, noticing their ticks and tricks. The first few rounds went by quickly, and Tommy began collecting a pile of chips regardless of Tubbo’s help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a very good player,” Chuck gave a light laugh. “Too bad I’m about to take all of your money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can try,” Tommy grinned in return. “But I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’ll be leaving here with the contents of your pockets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuck’s people gave a laugh to the joke, and Tommy eased a bit. A few more rounds, and the amount of money on the table was starting to pile up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every few rounds, another one of Chuck’s lackey’s would fold out of the game after their money was moved around the table, either ending up with Tommy or Chuck, until both had a sizable pile. From his estimation there was close to around 200,000 dollars on the table, about half in each of their piles, and the excess in the waning belongings of the other players.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had to admit, Chuck had him sweating. He was a good, honest player, and though Tommy was able to pick out his tells, he found himself looking to Tubbo more than he liked to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time was ticking by fast, and Tommy knew that Chuck would probably call it a night soon, many of his friends had already ducked out of the game, and he knew that Chuck would probably be close behind them. Tommy needed to pull out some sort of deal, a bet that Chuck wouldn’t be able to resist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed something that would warrant him pulling out his gold card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a type of card only made for high rollers, and ones acquired by grifters like himself, either on the dark web, or through people like Tubbo, that were created to keep track of exorbitant amounts of money. Once you hit a certain chip threshold, you could simply pull out your gold card, and pay it off with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy knew that West had one. He just needed him to put it on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy scratched the skin on his right elbow, and Tubbo seemed to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretched out with a groan as he folded, watching West pull in a massive pile of chips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo dealt him a basic high hand the next round, something that normally would’ve gotten him excited, but something he knew would lose him the round. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was exactly what he’d need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew how easily Tubbo had learned to memorize the cards, his mind working with the numbers and pictures to create a map of how they moved in his mind. Tommy had listened to Tubbo explain it dozens of times, but he’d never really understood it at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All in,” Tommy pushed his chips into the center.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, that cocky?” Chuck raised his eyebrows. “Well then don’t mind if I do the same.” He pushed his chips into the center as well. “All in for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flipped over his cards. All spades, a flush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Chuck winked. “Partner.” He flipped his own cards over. Four kings, one jack. A four of a kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww jesus,” Tommy slapped his hand to his forehead, running it down his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good game Mr. Innit.” West gave him a wink, “but it looks like I’m the one with the pockets full of cash.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, this has been real fun,” Tommy sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess we have been playing for a while,” West nodded in return, turning his watch face up on his wrist. “It’s been fun, Mr. Innit. You should really have your father’s people contact my people, we could strike some sort of deal. I’m sure you’d get something out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I would,” Tommy agreed with a nod. “But I was actually thinking that we make the stakes a little bit higher than </span>
  <em>
    <span>money</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Chuck’s eyebrows pop up with intrigue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket and set them onto his pile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a 1972 vintage Hawkeye out in the valet parking lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuck turned his head, barely taking a second to consider. “Now that is something I’d be willing to play for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another round then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Chuck put his hands out, “I have to at least try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded to Tubbo with a slick smile, who nodded back cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all honesty, Tommy had no idea whose keys those were. He’d stolen them out of one of the valet booths, making sure that they were at least vintage. The only thing that actually belonged to him on the keys was the mini multitool he normally just carried with him in his jacket pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few rounds, Tommy had won back most of what he’d lost in previous rounds. It’d mostly been luck so far, he’d been in some close scrapes, and had managed to force Chuck to raise on hands he was sure he’d win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuck was clearly a man who didn’t enjoy losing, and he was also clearly not a patient man or a composed one after losing enough times. By the last few rounds, Tommy could read him like a tabloid in a hair salon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped Tubbo another signal, and waited until it was his turn. “Here we are again Mr. West,” he turned to the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All in?” The man asked. “Because I was about to say the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think you can beat me again?” Tommy cocked a friendly eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m about to be a few hundered thousand dollars and a vintage car richer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned over his cards and watched Chuck’s eye twitch. A straight flush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah damn.” He turned over his own. Full house. “Guess you were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess I was,” Tommy gloated. “Look at how wrong you ended up being, letting a twenty something get the better of you.” He reached forward to pull in the pile of chips, including the keys, giving Chuck a wink. “Mmm, the wonderful smell of </span>
  <em>
    <span>money</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh is that how you’re going to play it?” Chuck reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a golden card. “Then how about this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jack-fucking-pot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh,” Tommy said with a smile so big it hurt his cheeks. “Big man with his big card.” He motioned for Tubbo to deal. “I’ll bite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I will too.” A voice from behind them spoke. The british twinge took Tommy off guard, but he turned to look at the man. He’d seen him in the crowd of West’s lackey’s but he hadn’t paid much attention to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was incredibly tall, with a droopy expression and shaggy brown hair styled in messy curls. The man wore a tightly fitted light grey suit, and pulled a small pile of chips out, setting them on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re already pretty far into this,” Tommy interrupted, “I’m not sure you’d want to join now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I do.” The newcomer gave Tommy a look that cut into him. “I’ve been watching how you both play, and I want a chance at it myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>West simply clapped the man on the back, “don’t worry Mr. Innit, I’ve played with this guy for a while, he’s got the money if that’s what you’re worried about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Tommy took in his cards. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well this wasn’t what he’d wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>About halfway through the next few rounds, Tommy realized that there was something very wrong with the new man at the table. Not in general, he seemed like any perfectly fine person you’d meet on the street, but the way he played…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted to buy a nice pair of snakeskin boots, ones with rabbit fur trim, but I’ve never found a good place, do you boys know of any?” The man hadn’t stopped talking since he’d sat down at the table. His stories were nonsense, but they were enough to keep Tommy distracted. He hadn’t planned for this, and his mind was suddenly rushing a mile a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminded Tommy of himself, but if he’d played the game reserved. Tommy wasn’t reckless. He always knew what he was doing, he was always one step ahead. Tommy also knew that he did everything right all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why did this guy make him feel like he was suddenly out of control?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chips were being more evenly spread now, and Tommy no longer felt like he had any sway over the game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was something about the way this mystery man gathered his cards and kept the conversation moving. He spoke like an lethargic auctioneer with an endless supply of coke, never ending, but with enough force that he felt himself need to pay attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s how I learned not to trust a cake seller in Baltimore, a very strange man. Turned out to be a Russian mobster.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>West didn’t even seem to notice it either, which was the odd thing, but as Tommy began prompting Tubbo for cues, he realized that Tubbo had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must’ve been messing with his counting, because Tubbo kept nearly spamming all of their different codes for “</span>
  <em>
    <span>lost connection, lost count, forgot, unknown</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could he even tell this guy to just shut up? That he was ruining the game? It didn’t seem to be bothering West, so he couldn’t let it get to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t even realize that when most of his pile was gone, only a few thousand dollars and the car keys remaining, both the mystery man and Chuck had betted all in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly it was over before he even had a chance to react. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mystery player was clapping Chuck on the back, and Tubbo was practically kicking Tommy under the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a second, Tommy flicked on his suave persona, tuning into the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, boy you had me going there,” Chuck was saying to him. “But I really got you in the end, didn’t I?” He pushed his card into his pocket and Tommy felt his stomach drop the second it disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, guess you did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had fun, but I should really head back with the boys.” He gave the man in the grey suit a wink. “My wife wouldn’t be too happy if she knew what I was doing, would she?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sir, I don’t think she would.” The man replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>West gestured to the chips and then to Tubbo. “Get those colored up, would you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yes sir, of course.” Tubbo gave him a shaky reply, and Tommy nearly face-palmed at the little bow he added to the end before scrambling to pick up the chips from the table and count them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you heading back to the penthouse?” West asked the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I think I’ll stay here for a while longer.” The man’s dark eyes turned to Tommy. “I think I’ll have another round with our new friend here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knock yourself out,” West shrugged his jacket on, waving over to some of the other guys sitting at the bad, “just don’t put it on my tab.” He gave a laugh, which the strange man joined in on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo handed West his sleeve of chips, and gave him another little bow. West didn’t even seem to notice as he bid them goodnight, and left the three of them alone at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips together, trying to hide his anger as his eyes flicked to the miserably small pile of things of his on the table. “So that was uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger cut him off, looking at Tubbo. His words were pointed. “How long have you been helping this man cheat at poker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo looked just about ready to choke on his own tongue, sputtering uncontrollably. “W-what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now sir, that was a very rude thing to accuse someone of.” Tommy put his hands on his hips. Even he had to admit, he was spiraling. He hoped that his fake status would at least give him some leverage. “Just who do you think you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone who could either explain everything he just saw to the security guards upstairs, and make your life an entire living hell.” The man flicked his eyes to the door leading out into the hotel. “You could follow me, and I can assure you that this can all go away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do we know we can trust you?” Tubbo blurted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t.” The man pulled out his phone. “But you’ve nearly confirmed that my accusation was true, so I’m not sure you have a choice anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips together, almost ready to outright strangle this tall, oddly eloquent stranger. He really didn’t like it when people got the better of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tommy dropped the fake accent back to his own. “I guess we don’t.” He narrowed his eyes at the man. “But just who the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man let a small smile flicker across his face. “Well Mr. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Innit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If that’s even your real name, I’d doubt it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My</span>
  </em>
  <span> name is Wilbur Soot. And there’s a lot we should discuss.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Negotiations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy didn’t know who the fuck this Wilbur Soot guy thought he was, but he wasn’t about to let him take away everything he’d had worked for three months to build away from him in one night. </p><p>Wilbur glided through the casino with a gentle grace, Tubbo following behind him with his head down, and Tommy at the back with his hands in his pockets, biting the inside of his cheek. </p><p>He was scrambling to formulate any sort of plan. It was easier to think now that he was only focusing on self preservation, and not saving face, playing cards, and practically dancing a little jig for West.</p><p>He was at the point of seriously considering calling in that favor from a while back to get a hit put out on whoever this guy was. The thought was fleeting, there wasn’t enough time anyway, this man could’ve very well have already contacted someone in case they did anything to him. With the way he acted, Tommy almost <em> expected </em> that he would have. Then they’d go to jail for not one offense, but two. </p><p>Wilbur led them through a set of double doors and up to an industrial looking stairwell, before opening the door out the very roof of the building. </p><p>“Ah,” Tommy said as the sounds of the city at night covered their voices. “So you’re here to kill us then?”</p><p>“What?” Tubbo’s eyes went wide.</p><p>“No, no.” Wilbur pulled out a small silver case, flicking it open. “Just wanted a smoke.” He pulled one out and lit it up. “And to talk a little.”</p><p>“Are you going to turn us in to the casino board?” Tubbo blurted out, and Tommy elbowed him, hard. </p><p>“C’mon you dickhead,” he muttered. “Now he really knows.”</p><p>Tubbo looked down at his shoes. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Yeah I’m not going to turn you in, I don’t think.” Wilbur pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. “I just want to know how you did it.” </p><p>Tommy went quiet, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. He flicked his eyes to Tubbo, saying nothing.</p><p>“Ooh, trying to play the silent card. Clever.” He gave Tommy wink. “Alright, here’s the deal then. You tell me how you did it, or I <em> do </em> turn you in.” </p><p>Tommy just stared blankly back at Wilbur, watching as Tubbo began to fidget next to him. </p><p>The man pulled his phone out of his pocket, flicking through it. “If that’s how you want it.” </p><p>“It started as Tommy’s idea.” Tubbo interrupted. His voice petered out slightly, “but eventually it was both equally us involved. He found out about a high roller who consistently comes to this casino at around the same time every year. I'm, um, I’m the closest thing to a professional card dealer he had, so he asked me to get myself into the casino as a dealer.” </p><p>“And it worked,” Wilbur nodded. “Apparently they trusted <em> you </em> enough.”</p><p>“We have our ways.” Tommy bit back. “I <em> know </em> people in this town.”</p><p>“I’m sure you do,” he replied, words thick with sarcasm.</p><p>Tubbo just nodded profusely, stumbling over his words. “I’m good at memorizing cards, I can keep the numbers up in my head pretty well. It wasn’t hard for me to know what cards I was dealing to people, as long as I could focus.”</p><p>“Then I guess I read the situation right.” Wilbur posed, raising an eyebrow, “my incessant talking probably didn’t help.”</p><p>“No, I really didn’t see that one coming,” Tubbo shook his head. “But basically, Tommy and I learned to speak through body language code, and Tommy’s already a good player, so he doesn’t really need my help anyways.” </p><p>“Interesting,” Wilbur nodded. “And you’ve had this all planned out for...how long?” </p><p>“Three months,” Tommy spoke before Tubbo did. “You’ve just put three months of planning down the drain. I mean, a man like him, he was just going to gamble away that money anyway, why not just let us take it?”</p><p>“Because I wasn’t about to let my <em> client’s </em> husband gamble away everything.” He turned his head slightly, muttering out of corner of his mouth not holding the cigarette. “West’s wife started having me work with him a few years ago, after grifters like you found out he was someone easy to poach.”</p><p>Tommy’s eyes went wide. That’s why no one had ever been able to get West, why his friend had noted that it was such an easy poach, and no one had taken then bait. Even more, he realized what exactly Wilbur was, and why he made Tommy’s skin crawl. “You’re a fixer.” </p><p>Wilbur opened his mouth and closed it again. “Well I prefer ‘situational advisor and counselor for those of high wealth and standing’, but-” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tommy let out a laugh. “Fixer.” </p><p>“What I am doesn’t matter, but what you two are does.” He stabbed out his cigarette. “Normally when I catch grifters like this, I turn them in, because they’re normally washed up old men in badly tailored suits but you two…” He pushed his hands into his pockets and let out a little laugh. “Don’t take this lightly when I say that this is an incredibly sophisticated plan for two children to have come up with.”</p><p>“Hey,” Tommy nearly barked. “I’m 19, and Tubbo’s nearly twenty, we’re not children.” </p><p>“Anyway, that’s not the point.” He let out a sigh. “I also work for a rather powerful person in this city, and they’ve been looking for new blood with abilities like yours.”</p><p>“What?” Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “Did you just catch us only to offer us a <em> job </em>?” </p><p>“Well, sort of. I’ve got to speak to my boss anyway.” He let out a sigh, continuing before Tommy could interrupt him. “I <em> am </em> terribly sorry about ruining your grift, and I understand that you are leagues away from trusting me, so here. I hope this can make it up to you.” He pulled out a gold card and handed it to Tommy. “And this too.” He grabbed a small white card from another silver container, giving it Tubbo. “My business card.”</p><p>Tommy looked over the gold card as Wilbur began towards the door downstairs. “I really don’t understand you, man.” </p><p>“It’s good to have contacts in this city, Mr. Innit.” Wilbur replied, turning his head. “I’ll be in touch.”</p><p>The two watched as Wilbur pushed the door open and disappeared from view. Tommy turned to Tubbo dumbfoundedly. “What the actual hell was that about.” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Tubbo replied with a lopsided expression. “But I think that we might not have to worry about the next grift.” </p><p>Tommy lifted the card up to see it better. “You really trust that guy?” It looked like a legit casino gold card. He then punched Tubbo in the side. “And what the hell were you thinking telling him everything?” </p><p>“Ow, hey!” Tubbo swatted at Tommy. “We didn’t really have any other choice.”</p><p>“It was our word against his, we could’ve taken him.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Tubbo replied quietly. “He seemed like he knew <em> everything </em>, from the way he was talking. And look at this.” He handed Tommy what he’d realized was a business card. On heavy cardstock, with embossed black letters was the name ‘Wilbur Soot’, along with ‘situation advisor, counselor and executor’, and then a phone number. </p><p>“He had his title mostly memorized.” Tommy began walking towards the door. </p><p>“What a prick,” Tubbo sighed. </p><p>Tommy waved the gold card in the air. “Let’s see how much money’s on this thing, and then we’ll decide if he’s a prick or not.” </p><p>A swipe at the casino’s in house ATMs had both of them, mouths agape, staring at the number on the screen. </p><p>There was roughly 100,000 dollars on the card. </p><p>Tubbo was left stammering as Tommy started the process of pushing about a quarter of the money into cash. Though it wasn’t what Tommy had expected, at least it wasn’t nothing. </p><p>He and Tubbo carried a briefcase full of cash out of the casino, and started the long walk to Tubbo’s apartment on the other side of the city. Normally Tubbo took a bus, but tonight, they couldn’t risk that with the amount of money on them.</p><p>Tommy took the set of keys still heavy in his coat pocket out looking to the valet lot. </p><p>It was a lot easier than he’d expected to steal an expensive vintage car right off the lot, but he waved for Tubbo to hop in, and the two of them took off into the city.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll be worried about how much we took out on the card?” Tubbo asked, nodding to the cash in the briefcase. </p><p>“My reputation will hopefully be good enough. The cameras would’ve seen me win something, hopefully they won’t pry into it any further.” He paused, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Just like we would’ve done with West’s cash.”</p><p>Tubbo nodded, facing back forward, and pulling the briefcase up into his lap, hugging it close. He didn’t seem willing to prod into how Tommy was feeling about their loss right now. Tubbo murmured quietly, “how long do you think it’ll last us for?”</p><p>“Long enough to plan another grift.”</p><p>“You don’t think that Wilbur guy’s gonna stop us?” </p><p>Tommy pressed his lips together. “He can fucking try.” </p><p>They pulled the car into the back lot behind the apartment complex, Tommy knocking the license plate out with a rock, while Tubbo scrounged for some cardboard in the back alley, covering over the top. </p><p>They headed up to Tubbo’s place on the fourth floor, both exhausted and nearly ready to collape. It was nice for an apartment on the outskirts of Vegas, with a tiny kitchen, a sitting room overlooking the desert, and two little bedrooms for each of them. </p><p>Tubbo pushed open the door, and entered in, while Tommy waited in the doorway. He could hear Tubbo set the briefcase on the table, and Tommy took the time to slowly close the door behind him.</p><p>It was strange to be here again, after three months. They were supposed to be celebrating, and he supposed they'd made something tonight, there <em> was </em> 100,000 dollars sitting on their kitchen table right now, but it wasn’t what they were <em> supposed </em> to have made.</p><p>And he couldn’t help but feel like this money had strings attached. What had Wilbur even been talking about? </p><p>Tommy headed into the main room, the door at the end of the hall standing menacingly closed. The door to his room. The room he was supposed to sleep in after…</p><p>He’d put so much stake in this night and now it was all gone.</p><p>“Are you going to sleep?” Tubbo asked, stretching and yawning for emphasis. </p><p>“I think maybe,” Tommy replied.</p><p>“Alright,” Tubbo nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Tommy?”</p><p>His eyes flicked over to look at Tubbo. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Please just go to sleep tonight, we’ll figure this thing out in the morning. I can call that Soot guy or whatever, and we can work on finding a new mark.” He unbuttoned and shrugged off his vest, folding it over his arm. He then nodded to the briefcase. “Put the money somewhere safe, I’m going to get cleaned up and go to bed.” </p><p>Tommy just pressed his lips together again and bobbed his head. He waited until Tubbo was in the bathroom before crossing the room to the briefcase.</p><p>He went to unbuckle the front and flip it open, but instead noticed the business card sitting on the table next to it, the gold card underneath. Tommy pocketed the gold card, but picked up the white one, looking it over. </p><p>Maybe there was more information on whoever this guy was out there, if he had a business card, then there must be some record somewhere. Tommy pulled out his phone, and considered calling the number, punching in the digits a few times before deleting them. </p><p>He didn’t like it when people got the upper hand, and he definitely didn’t like it when they had leverage over him. Every inch of his skin was itching to ditch town and start up somewhere else, but there really wasn’t any other place like Vegas he could go to.</p><p>He had contacts here, money, grifts he could set up with ease.</p><p>Tommy rubbed his eyes, he had better things to think about than this man. For one, figuring out their next plan. As large as 100,000 dollars seemed, it would only last them a little while before they’d have to find another source of money. Maybe two or three years if they were lucky.</p><p>He slid the briefcase into the cabinets under the sink, tucking the business card in with it, before looking over his shoulder to the door behind him. A grey wooden barrier between him and the bedroom he hadn’t touched in three months. </p><p>He wondered if it would feel the same. </p><p>Tubbo had picked up his luggage from the hotel yesterday, and it sat next to the door waiting for him. Why was he so afraid to cross that threshold?</p><p>Was it because the person that had left that room had been excited and ready for anything, and now he just felt…</p><p>Tommy stood, walking over to pick up the suitcase. He was just tired, he decided. He just needed sleep, that would fix all of this. His hand waited, poised over the handle to the door, but he couldn’t will himself to turn it.</p><p>“Tommy?” He turned his head to see Tubbo coming out of the bathroom in his pajamas, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel. “Is there something wrong?” </p><p>“It’s fine,” he turned back towards the door. “Just overthinking.” </p><p>He pushed opened the door to his room, and slipped inside. </p><p>It was almost exactly the same as he’d left it. It smelled a little different, musty from the thin layer of dust, but the same. He didn’t even bother flicking on the lights before collapsing into bed. </p><p>He’d forgotten the comfort of being in his own bed, and not the bed in some hotel. </p><p>It was being surrounded by his own things, the posters on the walls, the books on his shelf, the space on his desk where his laptop would normally go.</p><p>And for the moment, he forgot about Wilbur, and managed to lull himself into a state of only somewhat fitful sleep.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>Tommy woke the next morning to the sunlight beaming through the window, and the smell of something good cooking in the kitchen. He sat up, and realized that he was still in his suit from the night before. Tommy’s gaze fell to the closet of clothes he hadn’t touched in forever, and he stood, grabbing out a comfortable maroon sweatshirt and some pants, and practically dragged himself out into the bathroom down the hall.</p><p>Tubbo stood humming in the kitchen, flipping what smelled like bacon in a pan. </p><p>“Since when were you a morning person?” He grumbled, eyes still bleary and adjusting to the light. </p><p>Tubbo turned, raising an eyebrow at Tommy and gesturing to the clock on the oven with his spatula. “It’s two in the afternoon.” He was wearing an apron patterned in tiny bees and his hair was pulled back with what looked like a rubber band.</p><p>Tommy narrowed his eyes, “yeah, sure. What’s with the uh-” He moved his finger around at Tubbo in general. Tommy shook his head, “nevermind, I need a shower and some tea, and then all of this will make sense.” </p><p>Tommy had never brought his own shampoo with him to the hotel, and smelling something that felt like home made his stomach churn and his throat burn. If he was a person who let himself cry, he almost might’ve the second the smell hit the air.</p><p>He buried himself in his sweatshirt and walked into the kitchen, where Tubbo had set two plates on their tiny table, with scraps of bacon and fried eggs, and a cup of tea with the steam still rising in the air conditioned chill. Tommy sat down, and let himself stare down at the food for a moment. </p><p>Breakfast for three months had been granola bars or last night's leftovers with shitty hotel room coffee. </p><p>He didn’t leave anything on the plate, trying to savor each bit as Tubbo laughed at him to eat it, not just wolf it down. Tommy was forced into helping with the dishes, before heading back into his room, and opening up his laptop.</p><p>He lay back on his bed, typing Wilbur’s name into the search bar. He was surprised at how little he found. No social media, no online presence. There were snippets of him here and there, a helpful someone mentioned without a name behind it.</p><p>But he never found a Wilbur Soot. No photos, nothing. The closest thing he found was a man with the same last name, who looked a few years younger, his instagram full of pictures from expensive parties, and a wardrobe that was practically dripping with trust fund money. </p><p>The man was a whisper, only his business card and the gold casino card sitting on Tommy’s shelf. Did he even exist? Or was last night some sort of complicated fever dream?</p><p>Tommy knew that the two cards proved that it wasn’t, but he wished that the past few months were all a dream. If he could just do it all over again, he’d do it better this time...he wouldn’t freeze, he wouldn’t fuck up...he wouldn’t-</p><p>Then Tommy remembered the business card. And that the card had Wilbur’s number.</p><p>He could honestly just pester the man until he either gave up the ghost, or gave him information. Tommy had done worse before. </p><p>He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and headed out into the main room. Tubbo’s door was closed, and he assumed he was busy doing something on his own computer. Probably alone playing a rousing game of solitaire. </p><p>Tommy found the briefcase where it was hidden in the cabinets underneath the sink, the business card tucked under the handle.</p><p>He put in Wilbur’s number and called, listening to it ring twice before someone replied.</p><p>“Hello?” Wilbur’s annoyingly posh voice came over the receiver.</p><p>“Hello dickhead,” Tommy replied.</p><p>“Ah, Tommy, right?” Wilbur paused for a moment. “And it only took you what, 32 hours?”</p><p>“You learned my name,” Tommy laughed, “and 32 hours to do what?”</p><p>“Call me,” Wilbur responded. “I’d thought that it would’ve been immediate. I did some research into you, y’know.”</p><p>“Really?” Tommy leaned against the counter, nodding towards no one. “Cause I could say the same.” </p><p>“Cute!” Wilbur replied almost too cheerfully. “Did you find anything new? I was sure I’d expunged most of it by now, but sometimes things slip through the cracks.” </p><p>“You were expecting me to do that?”</p><p>“I’d considered it, you’re meticulous, but you’re often blind to things you think you’ve already covered, and those things drive you mad, because you can’t figure out how to see them.” He heard Wilbur begin to eat something. “But what I said earlier, what did you find?”</p><p>Tommy shook his head incredulously. “Why did you catch us only to give us your number?”</p><p>“Tommy, mine first, then I’ll answer your question.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes, listening to what sounded like Wilbur eating an apple on the other end. “I didn’t find much, except for…” he paused, the man with the same last name, was that leverage? Should he keep it to himself? “...some rich pricks on forums recommending you.”</p><p>“Yes, I’d told them to stop, but they really love to boast when I help them cover up their affairs.” He sighed, “or their extortions from their affairs, or when their affairs go mysteriously missing.” His tone picked up slightly. “I’m a man of many hats, Tommy.” </p><p>“Are you going to answer my question?”</p><p>“Mmm.” He heard something that sounded like the creak of floorboards. “Alright. It’s what I said on the roof of the building, my boss needs new people like you. You and Tubbo are talented, you clearly know what you’re doing, and it’d be a crime and a detriment to us to let you get snapped up by someone else.”</p><p>“You can’t con a con man,” Tommy said after a moment. “I really, really, don’t trust anything you’re saying.”</p><p>“I would never lie to you Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice dropped the charismatic lilt. “I can’t promise you a lot, but I can promise you that.” He paused for a moment. “So I’ll tell you that I used the leverage because I knew you would be like this. You wouldn’t trust me, and <em> obviously </em>, I understand that, but please…” </p><p>Tommy looked at the closed door across the room, and around the apartment, lit up by the light coming in through the blinds. “How much would you pay?”</p><p>“Oh, well, you’d need to meet the team first, and then we’d discuss your payment.”</p><p>“How much?”</p><p>There was a momentary pause, before he spoke again. “It’s usually a case by case basis, a few thousand dollars a pop if you’re good.” Wilbur scratched something down on paper on the other end. “And you’d do a few jobs a month, if the boss likes you.” </p><p>“And just who is this boss you keep referencing?” </p><p>“You’ll hear about him eventually, but for now I’d like to keep your work with us quiet.” He let out a small laugh. “We don’t want any prying ears taking you away from future grifts because they realize who you’re connected to.”</p><p>Tommy's mouth fell open slightly. “Wait, how powerful <em> is </em> this guy?”</p><p>“This Friday, there’ll be a meeting at one of our locations. Come around seven in the evening, I’ll text you the address. When you get there, tell them that Soot sent you. Wear something nice.” Before Tommy could protest, Wilbur hung up the phone, leaving him sputtering his questions into dead air. </p><p>Well. At least they’d have a job. </p><p>Tommy was still skeptical, but at least it was...something. Something felt off about Wilbur, but Tommy couldn’t put his finger on it. For now, he’d just have to take the plunge, and trust him. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy had expected a chop shop at the edge of town, maybe a swank upscale restaurant with a bouncer. He’d even wondered if they’d get shoved into the back of a tiny coffeeshop running an illegal poker game. That one had happened more than once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing he expected was the end up at one of the biggest, most exclusive parties in the whole Vegas scene. He’d only ever heard about them through legend and stories, but they were apparently all night ragers filled with drugs and alcohol, and a main mingling place for celebrities to take the weekend off in Vegas. They were exclusive, changing locations every month, filled with every pleasure known to humankind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than anything, he, better than anyone, knew exactly who these parties were thrown by. And who exactly Wilbur might work for…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had been obsessed with the underground of Vegas since he’d been dropped here in his teens. He knew every gangster and grifter, every self made man, and every crooked one. Tommy knew that there was one man in particular who was beloved as the infamous trickster of Vegas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people who knew about the parties in passing believed that the host, a man whose name Tommy had forgotten, was the one behind it. The one who’d gotten famous for attending every party. Tommy supposed that for most people, all the important details about the host had been forgotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Tommy knew who was really behind it all, where the money came from and went to at the end of the day. Who was really pulling the strings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faceless billionaire known as Dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was that Wilbur’s boss? Were they about to work for fucking </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dream</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled the car he’d taken from the casino parking lot into the secluded back alley, where the other people who couldn’t afford chauffeurs and limousines had parked their exorbitantly upscale vehicles. He locked the Hawkeye as Tubbo shut the door to the passenger side, mouth agape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them had seen the building on their way through to park, and somehow, both had understood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were somewhere outside the city limits, walking into an abandoned lot where a massive metal building stood lonesome, surrounded by parked cars and ground that reeked of oil and tarmac. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People streamed towards the two open doors at the front, which flashed with neon lights, and let out the sounds of thrumming music inside. People moved in packs and pairs, holding out their phones for the bouncers at the front, or sometimes just getting a simple wave through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was surprised at the amount of people whose faces he actually recognized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy-” Tubbo said, his mouth still open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah I figured too,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This means…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That Wilbur probably works for-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream! Holy shit!” Tubbo whipped around and grasped Tommy’s shoulders. “Do you know what this means?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re probably about to get fucked over by some con man who’s pretending to work for Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shook his head. “No, that Wilbur might actually work for Dream, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> might get to work for Dream. Why are you always so negative?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pushed Tubbo’s hands off of his shoulders. “I’m not negative,” he began heading towards the entrance of the building. “I’m realistic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo jogged after him, grumbling about him being paranoid. He straightened his tie and walked up to the man at the door, who wore a dark suit and a headset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello there, we were sent by Soot.” Tommy gave the man a pressed lip smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bouncer narrowed his eyes at them, but pulled up his phone and made a call. “Mr. Soot? Yes I have two…” he narrowed his eyes at them, “a blonde kid and a brown-haired kid saying that you sent them.” There was some muffled conversation on the other end, before the man put the phone away. He blinked at them slowly, and for a moment, Tommy thought that they were about to be kicked to the curb. “Wilbur will be on his way to retrieve you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy blinked dumbfoundedly for a second, but Tubbo pulled him aside, and the two waited outside of the door until Wilbur, wearing a blue button down dotted with white and a pair of grey slacks appeared in the doorway. He wore a pair of glasses, and lifted his eyebrows at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You actually came,” he laughed. “I’m glad. Come inside, you’ll want to meet everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets as a phantasmagoria of lights and sound took over his vision. The room ahead of him was bathed in a teal blue glow, the faces of those around him speckled with purples and pinks from the glowing bracelets around their wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is one of Dream’s parties?” Tubbo shouted to Wilbur over the noise, looking back and forth between Tommy and Wilbur as he waited for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, you figured it out.” Wilbur chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy paused for a moment. “So you really work for Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he turned back to look at them, his eyes bright with a scheming glee. “And you might too, soon enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Music and voices filled the warehouse, and Tommy couldn’t quite pick one thing to focus on, his gaze moving from one person to another, to the ground, and the walls, just trying to take it all in at once. He saw Wilbur make a motion at them to follow, and he and Tubbo headed through the din towards a stairwell at the back of the warehouse, which was roped off and guarded by men in black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Wilbur neared, they unlatched the rope, and let the three of them through. Wilbur began ascending the stairs, guiding them up to a small alcove that overlooked the party below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is where we do most of our background stuff during the parties.” He gestured to their right, where people wearing mostly black carried different things about, walking up and down the stairs. “There’s mostly fetchers back there,” Wilbur explained. “They get things for attendees, and provide...select services to those who can pay top dollar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began leading them towards the left, towards a section that was curtained off from view. Wilbur pushed back the curtain to reveal a small sectioned off area where a few couches and chairs had been pulled in for seating, and four people sat waiting, making conversation, a drink cart sitting back against the far wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again, everyone. I’ve retrieved the two I was telling you about earlier.” He gestured to the both of them, “Tommy, and Tubbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh that’s an interesting name,” one of them spoke. He was sitting on a couch with another man, whose arm was over his shoulder, his own hands folded in his lap. He had a kind face, with pale rosy skin and a pair of glasses that shaded his eyes. “But I guess we’re not any better.” The man cocked his head slightly, giving them a smile. “Most people call me Bad, and this is Skeppy.” He pointed to the man to his right with his thumb. Skeppy raised a hand in greeting, nodding his head towards them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his eyebrows looking at the man who this ‘Bad’ had called ‘Skeppy’, as he had easily clocked that those were definitely not the real names of the men. That, and because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> who Skeppy was. In fact, he’d memorized a significant amount of information about him a while back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was pretty sure that this Skeppy guy was the CEO of the Multinia Casino corporation. Also known as the largest casino chain in all of Las Vegas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, right,” Wilbur interrupted his thoughts. “And then over there is Sapnap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man he pointed over to was sunk deep into a chair, clearly not happy about having to be there. He wore a black bomber jacket over a white sweatshirt, and a pair of ripped jeans, his arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur then nodded to a man sitting primly in the chair to the left of Sapnap. “You probably recognize him. That’s George.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name snapped into Tommy’s head like the missing piece he’d needed. Now he remembered fully, George had been the face of the parties practically since they’d begun at least eight or nine years ago. It was why most people attributed the all out bangers with him, instead of the man who Tommy knew really funded it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was pretty sure he was an actor, or maybe he’d been a model, or some other sort of celebrity, but he held himself with a sort of earned grace Tommy had only seen on royalty. He had on some sort of modern fashion look, clean cut lines in blue that tucked in at his waist at a pair of puffy white pants, and some sort of cape-like fabric dripped from his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George looked like a raver’s dream, but somewhat out of place in the present company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you all,” Tubbo nodded towards all of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad gave him a grin, and repeated the sentiment. Wilbur gestured for them to sit, before heading to the bar cart in the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy and Tubbo both eased down onto the couch, Tommy trying to give himself some space, with Tubbo nearly pressed up against his side, full of nervously excited energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long is this going to take?” Sapnap asked, looking towards Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Sapnap, there will be plenty of women waiting for you to seduce them on the dance floor when we’re finished,” he replied, pouring himself a drink with his back turned to the rest of them. “Besides, half of the meeting in the first place was to introduce you to these two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this all of you?” Tommy asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d expected Dream’s gang to be...massive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are more of us,” George spoke. Tommy was surprised that he too had a british lilt. “Just we’re his higher lieutenants. I control much of the image, Bad and Skeppy often help us when it comes to finances, they own one of the largest casino companies in the world-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I recognized you,” Tommy spoke, nodding towards Skeppy. “You’re the CEO of Multina?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy nodded, “I’m surprised that you know that.” He raised an eyebrow, “I really don’t get recognized by anyone other than bankers and lawyers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s a good thing,” Bad patted Skeppy’s knee. “For us, it’s best to keep a low profile.” He smiled over at Tommy. “I’m his CFO.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur turned, raising his eyebrows at Tommy, “and would you believe they’re married.” He took a seat next to Tommy on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s for tax benefits,” Skeppy protested. “Are you even aware of the benefits you get from being a married couple these days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do know,” Wilbur nodded, bringing the cup to his lips. “And I also know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We get it.” Bad snapped quickly, and Tommy turned to see that he’d changed several shades of red. “But did you have to choose </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be your-” he flailed his hands around, “muffiney self?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I did.” Wilbur set his cup on the table in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are we waiting on Dream or something?” Tommy asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap stifled a snort, while Skeppy nearly burst out into fits of laughter, and Bad covered the smile on his face, giggling. George was the only one who seemed quick to answer, smirking at the comment himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s funny, but no. Dream doesn’t show up to parties anymore, and he rarely shows his face outside of the occasional meeting in person.” His smile fell just enough for Tommy to catch the change in expression. He almost looked sad. “he’s gone most of the time these days, out working contracts, and scheming with big city people in LA.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream is harder to pin down than a fly on speed,” Wilbur remarked. “Trust me, we’ve tried. He’s always on the move, and he never likes to tell any of us when he’s decided to do so.” He clapped his hands together. “Speaking of which, while he’s currently out of town for the foreseeable future, he asked me to retrieve some assets for us. Hence, Tommy and Tubbo here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap raised an eyebrow, his lip curling up almost mockingly. “Where’d you find them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember my yearly contact with Chuck West?” He lifted his head to give Sapnap a charming, but sharp-eyed look. “He’s the technology CEO who usually comes down to blow his money every year. His wife hired me to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore, and I caught these two in the middle of one of the better, if not the best scheme I’ve ever seen anyone try to pull.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy perked up a little, looking immediately more interested in the conversation. “What kind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned his head. “Tommy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. “I found out about West from an old friend, and decided to run a scheme on him once I found out the stakes. Tubbo here is a master with cards and numbers, so it was a simple trick of getting him a job at the casino. I started establishing myself as a local during that time, one who could run with the high rollers, so that I could have access to their table.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy raised an eyebrow, “how long were you doing that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shot Wilbur a look. “Three months.” He paused for a moment, “three glorious months spent perfecting codes and signals, and everything, all for Wilbur to come in and crush our dreams at the last second.” Tommy leaned forward, pounding his fist into his palm. “I had it all right in my grasp, and I left with a few thousand dollars, a stolen car, and well…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you enjoy my hundred thousand dollar gift, Tommy?” Wilbur had taken his glass back from the table, and eased into the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a nice touch,” he shot back. “But it wasn’t the 500,000 dollars I could’ve made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy looked more interesting in what Tommy had said about Tubbo than anything else. “You deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded vehemently and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. “You wanna see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait do you just carry a deck of cards on you at all times?” Bad sat forward to be in line with Skeppy, elbowing him in the side. “He’s just as bad as you.” Skeppy reached into his pocket and pulled out his own deck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo stood, wide eyed, and moved over, becoming immediately engrossed in card conversation with Skeppy and Bad as Wilbur rolled his eyes and looked to Sapnap and George. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not getting him back,” Tommy sighed. “Last time he spoke to someone about cards, I couldn’t snap him out of it for at least two hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap stood, “I’ve lost a lot of prime time to talk to girls, so I hope you’re happy about that.” He looked to George, “do I really need to be here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure your bed will stay plenty warm tonight despite us,” Wilbur replied. “All we’ll talk about is the job we’ll send the two of them on. I’m sure you can head out and seduce all the rich women of Vegas to your heart’s content.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap snapped a pair of finger guns at him with a wink. “Thanks. See y’all at the penthouse...whenever I get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disgusting,” George replied with a smile, standing and heading over to the bar cart, pouring himself a glass of wine. “Bye Sap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about Sapnap,” Wilbur tightened his grasp around his glass. “He can be a bit of an asshole around people he doesn’t know yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “What exactly does he do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He uh, well he-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George returned, slumping down into the chair Sapnap had been sitting in earlier. “He’s our contract killer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy’s head snapped towards George.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have phrased it more delicately,” Wilbur cringed back slightly at George’s bluntness, “but yes. Occasionally we need a job done that requires...a bit more violence than I would like. He also partakes in clean ups and cover ups, which have been quite helpful in the past few-” Wilbur then paused, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. He raised his eyebrows at the name and drew in a breath, “speaking of cover ups, I’ve got the take this, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy watched him leave, headed behind the curtain, and turned to see that Tubbo was apparently showing Skeppy some card tricks he’d seen him do a few thousand times by now. His gaze then fell to George, who had turned to stare forlornly down at the party, his head propped on the back of his knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you missing it?” Tommy asked, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” George turned towards him, “oh not really. I like it up here, makes me feel a bit like Gatsby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just nodded, he didn’t quite know George enough to press farther into why, or what that even meant, but he assumed that it had something to do with his expression earlier, when he’d mentioned Dream. “Ah yeah, I had to read that when I arrived for high school here.” He wrinkled his nose up, “I still don’t know if I really even got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George just smiled good-naturedly and nodded. “Have you lived in the states long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, about four years now.” Tommy counted out on his fingers. “Yeah...just over four. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been here since I was a teenager, got roped up into Dream’s plans…” He made a gesture with his hand. “All starry-eyed and y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you known Dream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” George closed an eye. “Long time. Met him on the set of a photoshoot if I remember correctly. He asked me if I wanted to be a part of something great….and I said yes, of course. All of it is ancient history in Vegas’s standard by now, maybe ten years then.” He laughed into his wine glass. “I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been doing these now anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Dream like that then? Just picks up people at random.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George considered it for a moment, “I suppose. It’s how he found most of us. Random chance. Pure luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is that why Wilbur’s after us, then. For Dream to decide if we’re worth being a part of his crew?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George paused for a moment before speaking. “Well with this situation in particular...it’s a bit complicated if I’m honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, “complicated how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man waved a hand, sighing. “I can’t go </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much into detail for everyone’s sake, but...about a month ago, Wilbur messed up pretty bad, and as penance, Dream asked him to bring in someone who might be a candidate for his replacement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Tommy emphasised the first syllable. “You’re kidding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream didn’t get to where he is now by being soft.” George looked over through the crowd to the dance floor below. “But I don’t think he’ll go through with it anyways, he likes Wilbur too much as an asset.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I honestly still can’t believe any of this is real,” Tommy ran a hand through his hair. “I want to believe that you’re an actor, and that everyone here is fake, and Wilbur’s running some sort of overly complicated scheme on us, and I still can’t figure out what it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All George did was smile. “I think Dream will like you,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George tipped back the rest of his glass. “Because he’s exactly like you.” The man set the empty wine glass down on the table. “Both as paranoid as they come.” He turned towards the crowd and sighed. “Tell Wilbur to go easy on you, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George then stood, waving to Bad and Skeppy, before heading down to the party below. Tommy eased back into the couch, trying to process what had just been said, very glad for the few moments alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of these people were so...strange. He’d expected Dream’s crew to be a massive, cohesive unit, well oiled gears, fine tuned machines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These people felt...almost too human. There was no deftness in their words, nothing but what felt like a heavy weight anchoring each word. Only Wilbur seemed to walk with any sort of particular charm, but even that felt forced at some points.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, has George left?” Wilbur rounded the couch to take a seat next to Tommy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he said he had to get back to the party.” Tommy switched the conversation as smoothly as he could. “You were saying something before, about a job?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Wilbur snapped his fingers. “There’s a mark we need information on, and I believe that it’ll be the perfect first thing to ease you and Tubbo into our line of work. We’d pay you probably a-” he checked his phone, typing in some numbers into a calculator. “About 5,000 dollars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tommy cocked his head in surprise. “For one job? And you just want information?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, 5,000 each.” Wilbur seemed to take it as if he were offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kidding,” Tommy raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not kidding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and let out a sigh. “This continues to be too good to be true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guarantee, it’s not.” Wilbur leaned in towards Tommy. “It was a promise when I said I’d never lie to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to talk to Tubbo first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur gave a nod, heading over to the cart to refill his drink. “Be my guest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy crossed the room and placed a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “Hey, we need to discuss some things quickly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tubbo shuffled the cards in his hands back up into a pile. “I was just getting to the good tricks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lowered his voice, “they’re offering us 5,000 to do a job, each.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tubbo turned towards him, mouth opened. “Really, for what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Information on some mark,” he replied. Tommy pulled Tubbo into a quieter corner where they could talk. “I really don’t trust them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even after all of this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> after all of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still think they’re lying?” Tubbo pushed his cards away into their container. “I think we should trust them-” he held up a finger as Tommy began to protest. “For now.” He waved a hand dismissively. “If they screw us over, we can just split again. Lay low for a while.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it Tommy, the money he gave us went through, he’s brought us to Dream’s party, and we met up with his people.” He nodded his head towards Skeppy and Bad. “And I’m pretty sure they’re the real deal.” Tubbo placed his hands on either side of Tommy’s shoulders. “You’re just being paranoid. Trust me, I trust them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tommy nodded, turning back to Wilbur. “We’ll do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful,” Wilbur clapped his hands together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When do you need it done?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the mark is supposed to meet his agent at the Cloverfish Bar around six in the evening tomorrow.” Wilbur pulled out his phone and typed something into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s phone buzzed in his pocket with two texts from Wilbur. One was an address for the bar, and the other was a photo. It looked somewhat like a headshot the closer Tommy looked at it, but he didn’t really recognize the man in the photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name is Eret. I need you to figure out what hotel he’s staying in and steal his room key.” He looked to Tubbo and then Tommy. “Should be an easy job for a grifter and someone with quick hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips together, looking down at the photo in his phone. “Like candy.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Jobs for Liars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy was getting sick of wearing suits, but at least he didn’t have to wear a tie with this one. He fidgeted with his collar in the bathroom, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flicked off the light, heading out into the main room. Tubbo sat on the couch, arms crossed against his chest as he scrolled through his phone. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost five thirty,” Tubbo responded without looking up. “You should get heading out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright with walking?” Tommy tightened the cuffs of his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only a few blocks away, we should be fine.” Tubbo peeled his eyes away from his phone to look at Tommy. “We’re hiding the car for the next few weeks, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now,” Tommy nodded. His voice drifted off as he turned away, “...until I can get it repainted and get some fake plates for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo let out a soft snort, “you better not get attached to that car. We should’ve just gotten rid of it, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a nice car,” Tommy protested. “And if we need in the future, we can always ransom it back to the owner.” He moved to grab a set of keys to the apart from the hook at the front, patting his pockets to check for his wallet and phone. “Or we can hope that the owner was too drunk to remember they drove, and already owns too many vintage cars and forgets about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, you need to get rid of the car,” Tubbo sighed. “You already chanced it driving us to the party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He said, with very little confidence that it was. “And besides, I’m sure working for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream</span>
  </em>
  <span> will give us all of the leverage we need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just saying that because you think it’ll make me take your side,” Tubbo rolled his eyes. “And I mean, you’re partially right, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy grabbed the handle of the door. “We’ll talk about it when we get back, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tubbo sighed, waving to him as he slipped out of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a short walk to the Cloverfish, a small upscale bar close to their apartment. Tommy counted himself lucky that they happened to be practically next door. The last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in a cab or an Uber on a nice night like tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bar itself was tucked beneath an apartment complex, with a light up sign announcing its presence, and two large windows on either side. Tommy pushed the door open, heading inside to scope out the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He easily found the mark sitting at the bar, waiting alone with a glass of bronze-colored liquid. Tommy headed over to the jukebox in the corner of the bar, pulling out a few quarters and putting on some 80’s song his dad used to play in the car all the time when he was a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just needed an in now, something to make conversation with this complete stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flew over all of the details he could find, and decided to go in blind. He did better off the cuff, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sauntered up to the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. “Uh, hi, can I get a whiskey, neat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ID?” The bartender asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” He flicked his eyes towards the mark. “Curse my youthful glow.” Tommy handed his fake ID to the bartender, who barely glanced at the date and photo before handing it back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled down into the seat next to the man, Eret, he’d been told, his name was. The guy was tall, about his height, with fluffy brown hair. He wore a light blue suit, with a silver necklace hanging down against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently. He pretended to do a double take at Eret. “Night alone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret looked up from the phone in his hands and up at Tommy. “Hmm?” He smiled politely at Tommy. “Oh, just waiting for someone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, then I won’t bother you then.” The bartender arrived with his drink, and Tommy took it, setting it in front of him gingerly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s alright,” Eret turned his head. “They’re very late anyways. Probably cancelled on me last minute, and I didn’t get the message.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw a date or something?” Tommy asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A meeting with my agent actually,” the man responded. “Believe it or not, I’m an actor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tommy pulled his move. He moved his arm, turning fully towards Eret. It was a move he’d learned from the man who’d taught him the magic of confidence tricks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You started a conversation appearing to be a somewhat extroverted loner, looking to make conversation. The trick to not seeming too forward, however, was completely in the body language. It had taken Tommy months of tries to perfect it, but now he was sure he had it down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You started with your body fully turned, your arms placed to close off your body. The only thing at attention would be your head. Then, when the moment seemed right, you’d move your arm to no longer block your body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his teacher used to say, people were more likely to trust you if you opened your body language to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it worked near perfectly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy made conversation like some people made music, sweetly and rehearsed to all hell. Most people were predictable, and he liked that about them. There were a few questions to ask to unlock everything about a person. Bits about career, friends, where you lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Eret, it was different. Tommy wasn’t looking to grift him for money, but for information. It was a simple principle, but a different execution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re not from around here, hmm?” Tommy was working on wrapping up their conversation about Eret’s career. He was an actor, working in LA currently, but he was in Vegas to meet with his agent, who lived locally. Tommy had easily dodged questions about his own employment, with the easy, “I work in entertainment management”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People barely asked questions about that one, as most people in Vegas did something in entertainment anyways. That, or politics, but Tommy didn’t know enough about them to masquerade as a politician. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, nah, I’m living out in Los Angeles at the moment, but when the agent calls, you take the weekend off and come out to meet them.” He swirled his glass with a hand. “I’m sure you know about that with your own clients.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely, I do.” He scraped the back of his mind for the last time he’d played this part. Tommy had pretended to be a big oil man’s gambling addict son for enough time that it was hard to gather any of the other alter egos he’d collected over the years. But he remembered one thing, “where does he have you staying? Romanchio? Hannover?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most managers and agents tended to book their clients into either of those hotels. He just hoped that it was enough to seal the deal for Eret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Sundai, actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy raised his eyebrows, “your agent doesn’t spare expenses.” The Sundai was top of the line and expensive. High-brow talent tended to stay there. Whoever this Eret character was, he was more important than Tommy had thought him to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That he doesn’t,” Eret nodded, “I’m pretty glad for him actually, he was a big help when I was first getting started.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy listened to his conversation as intently as possible, his eyes watching Eret, but also the rest of the bar around him. Was Tubbo there? He couldn’t tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited until Eret was at a good pause before he pretended to startle. Tommy’s hand went to his coat pocket, fishing out his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret’s eyes raised as Tommy pretended to read a text. “Client?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m sorry. Let me just send them a message back really quick. It’ll only take me a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret waved his hands good naturedly. “Don’t worry, I totally get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy messaged Tubbo quickly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Got the hotel, you’re on to get the room key. Try left inside jacket pocket, keeps patting it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t wait for a response before putting his phone away, and continuing his conversation with Eret. It wasn’t even a few minutes later until Tommy caught Tubbo approaching the bar on Eret’s other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy kept his eyes on Eret, but did his best to listen in to what Tubbo was laying. Tubbo had lowered his voice to sound like he had when he’d acted as a lawyer when they’d gotten into a scrape a while back. He’d flattened his voice out too, less of his accent, and more of a compounded new england dialect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender didn’t even ask for his card, which Tommy took offense to almost immediately, but managed to keep his mouth shut. He was focusing on Eret, not Tubbo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment happened all at once, time slowing as Tommy’s eyes raised at the fumbled glass of beer falling over Eret’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Tubbo babbled, setting his glass down on the counter. “Let me help you, I’m so sorry.” Eret just raised his hands, shaking off beer as Tommy reached forward to hand him some napkins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mistakes happen,” he sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo began bumbling through profuse apologies, dabbing at him with napkins, and repeating versions of “I’m sorry, it was an accident,” over and over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bartender seemed to realize what happened, but his shouting at Tubo was lost on Tommy over how quickly the situation was moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man, just be more careful next time,” Tommy nodded up at Tubbo as he held out more napkins for Eret to use. Tubbo gave him a nod back as Eret stood, jostling him out of the way, and Tubbo scratched under his chin twice as his eyes flicked wildly between them. The sign for </span>
  <em>
    <span>complete</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I should just go-” he took off towards the door to the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that was,” Eret chuckled. “Not what I expected, and not how I imagined my night going. I think I should probably get back to the hotel and clean up, if you-” He raised an eyebrow at Tommy, about to say something, as he began patting his coat pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took in a deep breath, suddenly very ready to make a run for it. But instead of Eret’s expression growing sour, it blossomed massively wide as he looked down at Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kidding?” He grabbed either side of Tommy’s face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the grifter?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.” Tommy froze, his eyes wide. “What the hell are you talking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know I almost thought that you were actually some random guy interested in me for a second.” He let go of Tommy and began searching the room for something. “Wilbur did good with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy stood, “what do you mean, do you know him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does, in fact, know me.” Wilbur’s voice came from behind Tommy, and he turned to see the man striding towards them from across the bar, his phone up to his ear. “Yes Tubbo, it’s alright, you can come back inside the bar. And please bring Eret’s wallet with you, I think he’d want it back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Soot!” Eret exclaimed, pulling Wilbur into a half-handshake, half-hug. “How long has it been, a month or so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur gave him a smile, “I think it has. You’ve been so busy with your work, it’s impossible to get you out here anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret gave him a soft slug into his shoulder. “You know I only come when called.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream always does like to bring you in when you least expect it.” Wilbur turned to see Tubbo step nervously through the front door. “And you’re always more helpful then I realize.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Tommy threw his hands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about I take you all out to dinner,” Eret’s eyes motioned towards the bartender throwing them dirty looks. “I think it might be a little easier,” he smiled at Wilbur, “and a little more covert.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- - -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret took them to a restaurant off the strip called “Faraday’s”, which was a place that looked like it had once been somewhat divey, but in the boom of the last few years, had been fixed up. The walls were still adorned with photos of the place in its prime, and it still smelled like your average corner burger joint, but the food was practically five star. And with Dream footing the bill, as Eret had said, they could order whatever they wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur and Eret chatted like old friends, while Tommy had to sit and pout, all of his questions about what was happening, who the hell Eret was, and why this had turned from their first job, into a catch up session. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when Tommy grumbled to Tubbo about all of it, Tubbo had just told him to be patient before looking down at his menu. So Tommy continued to pout and grumble along answers to questions </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> pertaining to the information he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Wilbur said as the waitress came to collect their menus. “Let’s not let Tommy wait any longer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Tommy sat up straight. “So who the hell are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I am really Eret, and I’m also really an actor from Los Angeles.” He shot Wilbur a grin. “My agent just might be a little more powerful than the average.” Eret folded his hands on the table, nudging the side of his glass with his pinky. “I started working for Dream a while back when he found me through a casting agency. He helped me with my big break in exchange for some help of his own every once and awhile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re another one of his crew then, a grifter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly?” Eret’s nose wrinkled up. “I don’t know how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you all do, but I am good at playing a pawn. Most people don’t suspect me, because I’m not often suspect.” He grasped the glass in front of him, using it for emphasis. “Take for example, what you did earlier. If I’d been more disciplined in confidence tricks, I would’ve clocked what you were asking me. I would’ve understood you were a grifter, which is why I’m often used to train newbies. If I was another grifter like yourself, you would have seen through me easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, “I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tubbo rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Dream usually has me at his parties for not only image-” Eret had explained that he was well known in indie circles, and a good chunk of the people who attended Dream’s parties were absolutely nuts for indie films at the moment. “-But also information.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, really?” Tommy asked, furrowing his brow. He leaned forward, “and that works?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a charm,” Eret grinned, taking a sip from his bottle, “I’ve just got one of those faces. People like to tell me things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d be surprised how easy it is to put Eret in a room with one of those-” he pointed over to the necklace hanging around Eret’s neck, “and learn absolutely everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been sent on several jobs undercover, including this one.” He looked to Wilbur. “And I have to say, I think these are the best ones you’ve gathered, ever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When it comes to this, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> the best, aren’t I?” Wilbur chuckled half-heartedly into his glass. “Another win for Soot, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret’s eyebrows knitted together. “You don’t really think he’d go through with it, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go through with what?” Tommy asked as bluntly as he could. He had a feeling that it might’ve had to do with what George had mentioned, but Wilbur didn’t need to know he knew that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just some ultimatum Dream made a while back.” Wilbur waved his hand, as if trying to dismiss the conversation. “He dropped it after I made a few good points.” His voice was tinged with a soft note of sadness. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of ultimatum?” Tommy wanted to pry into whatever it was so badly. He had to know what Wilbur had done to get scorned so badly by someone so powerful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing that concerns you, Tommy.” Wilbur tipped back his glass and swallowed harshly. “Just old politics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo kicked him under the table, and Tommy managed to shut up. Their food arrived shortly after, and Tommy barely tasted his burger, only able to think about Wilbur, and more importantly, what he was clearly hiding. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Walk the Strip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy stood outside of Faraday’s, waiting for Wilbur as he bid Tubbo and Eret goodbye. He’d had something to say to Tubbo quickly, disguising it as ‘notes’ from the job, but Tommy could tell that he meant something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur returned to his side, a tooth-filled grin on his face as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Not tired yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can sleep when I’m dead,” Tommy replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s walk then,” Wilbur moved past him down the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them walked side by side in silence for a while, with Wilbur occasionally noting something about the buildings they passed. Either history, or the homes of his clients. The conversation was all superficial, and Tommy was waiting impatiently for it to turn onto what he’d been wondering the entire time they’d been out tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really miss being able to walk the strip,” Wilbur sighed, cracking his knuckles quietly. “But with how busy I am these days, it’s hard to get out and just do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Tommy replied with a murmur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you wondering what I said to Tubbo earlier?” He asked, his voice lowering as he spoke again, “you’re horribly impatient Tommy Innit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes flicked up to Wilbur. “Do you really think that’s my name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it good enough to be?” He replied smoothly. “It’s a name you adopted, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Tommy let out a harsh laugh. “Hard to remember the guy I was a few years ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur only smiled at that response, “you’ll be surprised how many names you go through by the end of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You act like you’ve been doing this forever. You’re like what, late twenties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, something like that,” Wilbur nodded. “Jobs like these both make the time move by so quickly, and drag on at the same time. Some days you feel like you’re at a party for days, staring into the deadened eyes of some bureaucrat who just funded the next big thing that fucks everyone over. Other days, you’ve collapsed on the couch, and hours go by like seconds.” He looked to Tommy briefly. “It cuts into you at a point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet you’re still here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t really leave, can I?” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Too many people depend on me these days. Too much pressure. From them and from myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something Tommy Innit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stopped at an intersection and pressed the button. “What are you in this game for? What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> end goal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets, barely considering his answer. He’d known it since he’d gotten here, since he’d watch his dad hit rock bottom, since…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Money,” he spoke. “I want money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur gave him a bare hum in response. “Money?” The light flicked green, and he started across the street, turning his head back, “or power?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy jogged after him. “I literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> money, idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s never </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> money, especially with people like you Tommy, people like us. Money is a gateway for something else. For you, I’d assume power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright dickhead,” Tommy snapped in response. “What do you want then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur slowed down a bit as he reached the other side. “Redemption, I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” For once, Tommy was asking sincerely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The past.” He sighed, quietly flourishing his next words, “the sins of those who came before. There are so many things I want to fix, and so many things I’m working to make right again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like with what happened between you and Dream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly, but not in a friendly way. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you hear that there was something between me and Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I’m pretty sure Eret must’ve mentioned it.” Tommy tried to shrug it off, but he’d already turned his face away from Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think he did.” He let out a dull snort, “I’d have known if he did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy paused for a moment, “George mentioned something about it at the party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course it was him.” He sighed, “I should’ve figured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two were quiet for another block, Tommy itching to ask more. He kept formulating the best questions in his head, the ones that’d get the most for the least suspicion, until Wilbur cleared his throat. “Dream and I...let’s just say, I advised him on something a while back, and it ended up being wrong. I lost him a lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tried to prod into the topic as gently as possible. “What did you lose?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His trust mostly. And a good chunk of money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On what? A bad trade, dealing with the wrong gang?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so pushy, Tommy, ” Wilbur’s voice bounced with a soft warmth, more teasing than angry. “How are you supposed to get information like that? Especially with it being your whole job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know!” Tommy threw his arms up. “I don’t want to have to turn on the charm for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> or whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying you trust me Tommy Innit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all,” he grumbled. “And why the hell do you keep calling me that? Should I start calling you Wilbur Soot over and over again?” Tommy cleared his throat, “Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy snapped back, “no, I just don’t like assholes like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I strike a nerve?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy went quiet, pouting as his shoulders curled into his body. “No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled at the building in front of him. “Alright.” Another silence for a few paces. “I spoke to Tubbo a little earlier. I offered him the job. He said yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he did, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s like a dog, he is, he’ll curl up in your lap no matter. As long as you give him food and a bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s a bad thing, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusts</span>
  </em>
  <span> so blindly, I don’t understand-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> on about this, are you?” Wilbur almost seemed bewildered. “After everything, the party, all of that, you still think I’m out to get you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what?” He patted his rounded fist into his hand for emphasis. “You are a 19 year old kid who -- I’m assuming -- came from nothing, you have no money I could steal, no status I could  abuse, no power of any sort.” Wilbur stopped them both, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder. “What reason would I have to try and scam you. What reason would I have to lie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged him off, looking down at the ground. “I dunno, some convoluted plan to get me sunk for your own gain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will never lie to you, that’s a promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll never lie, I’ll never lie,” he wobbled his voice in a mocking tone. Tommy began walking again, stabbing his finger in Wilbur’s direction. “That’s what you sound like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, have I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did, you dickhead!” Tommy realized. “You said that the thing with Eret was a job, and that it was for information, when that was a massive lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got paid, didn’t you?” Wilbur tipped his head to the side. “Or at least, you will, when this is all over. Technically, still a job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, so it’s like grimey grifter lying, where you make the deception sound cool and shit.” Tommy paused, lifting an accusatory finger. “Still lying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then how about I promise you that from </span>
  <em>
    <span>now on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I won’t lie to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> lied to me, you absolute dickhead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it possible for you to trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “I trust Tubbo. But he and I…” he shook his head, “the circumstances we met through demanded that we...whatever. I trust Tubbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy is it that you don’t trust me, or is it that you don’t want to believe this is real. That this will work. Or are you mad at yourself that you weren’t the once to discover the opportunity?” He paused for a moment, “don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re still sour about the job at the casino.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sour.” Tommy turned away, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how the fuck did he know all of this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur spoke again. “I can understand that you’re hard on yourself, and that you don’t feel you’ve earned anything that you haven’t done entirely yourself, but you don’t have to feel that way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t feel that way at all,” Tommy bit back, despite the fact that those words had spoken more truth about him than he’d liked to admit. “Just...let me think about it for a while, okay? I want to take some more time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well. Alright,” Wilbur nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned them down a street corner, back towards where they’d come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was sick of this guy being in his head. He could count on his fingers the amount of people who knew him deeply, and even some of those people had barely scratched the surface. Wilbur had cracked through several of the walls he’d put up years ago with ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could this guy, some random fixer, know things about him that he could barely realize himself? Tommy needed to get himself working on the same playing field of information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been a fixer for?” He asked, biting the inside of his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an odd question,” Wilbur retorted. “Is there a reason you want to know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Maybe to help me trust you or something, I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised an eyebrow, and let out a soft snort. “I’ve been working the Vegas circuit for about seven years now. Worked for Dream about two.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, “did you move here from the UK or something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came to California for university, and then ended up here on accident.” Wilbur said it like it’d been rehearsed. “You?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy almost hadn’t expected it to be turned onto him. “Uh, well. I moved here four years ago with my dad. He grew up in the area, and after...well he decided to move us out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked between Tommy and the sidewalk ahead, furrowing his eyebrows. “Something happen to move you? Work changes or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Family stuff, don’t really wanna talk about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that’s okay. Is it just you and your dad out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He flicked his eyes up to Wilbur. “Just us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the smug smile in his voice. “I’m assuming </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the family stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to be such a nosey asshole? I can see what you’re doing you prick.” Tommy snapped loudly. “Jesus.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies,” he spoke softly. “Didn’t mean to pry that much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them turned the corner to the street Tommy’s apartment was on, and Wilbur stopped in front of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really not going to ask how you knew this was here,” Tommy grumbled. “G’night Wilbur.” He began heading towards the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am sorry. I didn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. Just don’t bring it up again.” He loosened his shoulders, dragging his eyes up to meet Wilbur’s. “Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you consider the offer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, “yeah I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur watched as he headed inside, squeezing his eyes shut until they hurt as he ran over everything he’d just done wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride to the headquarters was a short one. Wilbur’s car was sitting on the street across from the Cloverfish, which was a quick jog back from Tommy’s apartment, and the building wasn’t much farther from there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gorgeous views of the richest homes in Vegas sat shimmering at the edge of the city, all walled in and filled with as much vegetation as money could burn. At the end of one particular street, far off from the rest of the homes, sat a massive mansion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building had massive pillars and a roof speckles with color, the wide windows gleaming with the light inside. As Wilbur parked in the front and stepped out, he was surprised to see that the lights in the back were off, and that the lawn was relatively silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked on the front door, and was greeted by one of the staff, who let him in, asking if he needed anything, or if his stay would be long. Wilbur waved them away and headed into the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d only planned on coming here to grab his plans he’d left in his study in the back and then leave, but he noticed the light on in the kitchen, and knew he’d have at least a few minutes conversation with someone. Wilbur felt fried already. After talking to Tommy, he’d managed to keep himself together, but barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things normally went easily for him, perfectly smooth, perfectly...perfect. That was what Wilbur was and had always been. What he was supposed to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this kid had come along and made his hands shake after every interaction. It wasn’t Tommy that scared him entirely, he knew eventually he’d cave, either through Tubbo or persistence...but the idea of what Dream might do...or the anxiety bubbling up again…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he entered the room he put on a happy face, seeing George sitting at one of the kitchen’s massive granite islands, sipping a glass of wine in a blue silk robe. He turned as he heard Wilbur enter, and gave him a small smile of hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Wilbur, it’s good to see you.” His eyes moved back towards the windows he’d been staring out of, where the illuminated pool glowed in the dark backyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No party tonight?” He asked. There was usually at least something every weeknight except for party nights, usually either thrown by Sapnap to get women, or George out of boredom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what had always stumped Wilbur about George, he could never get a good read on the man. He was charismatic and wistful, and surprisingly intelligent, but Wilbur could predict very little about him. You could never tell quite what he knew, or what he was thinking. It was often hard even to tell what he might say next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was reserved, but not in a scheming way like Wilbur was used to with those he dealt with. It was a quiet reprehension, like even he wasn’t sure of who he wanted to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” George responded. He waved a hand, “Sapnap’s away tonight, doing what he always does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, of course.” Sapnap, on the other hand, was easier to read than the label on a beer can. He was a man of many vices, and as long as he had steady access, he was satiated. Wilbur liked that about him, it was always good to have a trigger man who was easily kept. It was a bonus that he was endlessly loyal to Dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did it go?” George asked. “You had a job tonight, with Eret and those two new ones, right?” Wilbur hadn’t even realized that George had paid any attention during that briefing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It went well, luckily. Their grift was smoother then we’d even expected, Eret couldn’t even pick out that it was them at first. I revealed everything, and Tubbo took it well, even agreeing to join, but the other…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So Dream was right?” George wore that far off expression and brilliant smirk. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur let out a soft huff, looking down at his shoes, and back up at George. “He always is, isn’t he?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>George turned to look him in the eyes. His gaze was uncomfortably unnerving. “He’s here, if you’re going to give a direct report.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wait, what?” Wilbur’s eyebrows shot up. “Why is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why now?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>George shrugged as he took a sip of wine. “I wouldn’t know, he keeps things like that secret.” His eyes flashed as he lifted his head. Sometimes Wilbur forgot that George wasn’t as dull as his voice sometimes seemed to make him. “But he’ll want the report in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of...of course.” Wilbur moved past George as he turned back to the window. “Is he in his study?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last I heard, he said he was heading up to the meeting room, actually.” There was a slight pause. “I’m sure he’s expecting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t he always,” Wilbur muttered under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting room was on the top floor of the house, overlooking the city below through three large glass windows, behind a set of large doors. Wilbur knocked before entering, smoothing his suit and running his hands through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed the door open, stepping inside. At the far end of the room, a figure in a black suit jacket stood looking out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Dream, sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soot.” There was a slight pause as the man shifted. “I’m ready for your report.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I held the job, and Eret performed well as normal. The grift went smooth, he didn’t even realize it’d happened until it was over. I secured Tubbo, the dealer. He’s the one that’s good with his hands, but....”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m assuming this is where you tell me you weren’t able to secure the other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried, but he doesn’t trust me. He just believes that I’m only going to double cross him. I’m assuming he thinks you aren’t even real.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the one I had you do an analysis on, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And you were...right. He’s good, Philza good. And he has the potential to be great, but he needs discipline.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight pause, a few muttered words under his breath, the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Phliza </span>
  </em>
  <span>the most pronounced. “Can you teach him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of Wilbur’s lip twitched. “I thi...I know I can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream turned, his mask glowing pale in the light coming through the window. “Then I want an audience with him. Soon. He might be a more valuable resource than we realized.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Friendly Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tubbo shouted across the room. Tommy stood in the middle of the living room, still in the process of waking up. “You turned him down?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told him I’d consider it.” Tommy grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he passed Tubbo, opening the fridge. He scanned through the interior and muttered, “we need to go shopping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it?” Tommy stood, closing the fridge door with a slam. “It’s my decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bad one,” Tubbo protested, “I mean, so far they’ve made good on their promises. I checked our accounts today, and the money went through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy scrunched up his nose. “You have access to my account?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you gave it to me after announcing that you were too big of a man to need to do his own taxes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy narrowed his eyes before nodding. “I do remember that now actually.” He reached up to grab a mug from the cupboard. “But that doesn’t change the fact that these people are high ranking criminals. They’re a lot smarter than the people we’re used to dealing with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We worked with...</span>
  <em>
    <span>y’know</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tubbo shrugged, “and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a bigger lawbreaker than any of the people we’ve met.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what do we even know about this organization?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Tubbo crossed his arms, his voice flat. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> we know, Mr. Tommy ‘I stayed up until 5 am last night researching Dream for a week straight’. Or did you forget when you wouldn’t shut up about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah...yeah.” He moved to the sink and filled up the mug. “Even then, most people barely know anything about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s...he’s sort of a businessman. Made it big betting here, but he’s mostly known for the massive parties. One of which, we attended.” Tommy scratched the part of his brain he hadn’t reached for in years. “And no one’s ever seen his face, apparently he keeps his identity a secret, and apparently, his gang even more so. I’d thought, based on the way he works, that it would’ve been a massive group of people...but they must be spread far out.” He tipped his head to the side slightly in thought, lifting his mug to his lips. “It’s smart, actually, not having your members that well known, keeping a low profile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And have you heard any stories about his screwing over his own people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not...not that I remember, just that he doesn’t tolerate any form of betrayal. Heard some nasty things about people who crossed him the wrong way, and from the look of that Sapnap fellow, I can see who does the dirty work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think we’re planning on betraying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream</span>
  </em>
  <span> anytime soon. So why can’t you just say yes to Wilbur?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I don’t really know.” Tommy took a seat at the kitchen table. He rubbed the back of his arm. “Just...history, I guess. My circle of trust is me and you, Tubbo, and if I have to worry about more than just you, I-” He felt his chest deflate a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows, settling to lean against the counter. “Do you...want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk about it?” Tommy wrinkled his nose. “What do I look like to you, some whiny little bitch? No Tubbo, I’m a big man.” His hand clenched around the mug. “Feelings are for pussys, anyway, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s true-” Tubbo began. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do Tubbo, send me to therapy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve always thought of it as a good option.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy let out a sigh. “Ugh, jesus Tubbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Are you really going to tell him no?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I guess I’ll think about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo pulled away from the counter and moved to the fridge. “Good. I don’t want to do this without you anyways.” He closed it again with a sigh. “And you’re right, we do need to go shopping. We should go before we head over to your dad’s.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes widened, and he pulled out his phone. “You’re kidding is it that time of the month already?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you seriously forget again?” Tubbo sighed, “he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> dad. Why am I always the one that remembers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was the one undercover for the last three months,” Tommy snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right, whatever,” Tubbo exited the kitchen. “We should pick something up for him. And plan our story,” he turned, holding up his fingers in quotes, “I’m sure he’ll want to hear all about how ‘university’ is going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy groaned and ran his hands through his hair, lying his head on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His relationship with his father was...complicated. They got along well enough, and Tommy knew his father loved him, but things had been difficult after the move. A lot had happened in four years, but after reconciling the damage he’d done his junior and senior year of high school, the two were on good terms...As long as his father believed that he was currently attending university.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a lie, a massive one, but one Tommy was willing to tell if it meant that he got to keep the relationship with his father. He didn’t want to live with the guilt he’d felt back then, never again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he got up and changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and Tubbo knocked on his door, telling him it was time to head out to the store. The two went to run some errands, and Tommy felt some of the pressure relieve itself as he and Tubbo joked like old times. They picked out their food for the week, and bought an unhealthy amount of snacks, before Tommy stopped in front of the floral section at the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’d want flowers?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> dad,” Tubbo repeated for the second time that day. “But I’ve never really seen him as a flower person. Maybe we get him some chocolate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we, his date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say the same thing about you wanting to get him flowers.” Tubbo retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve just said the flowers were bad!” Tommy pulled up their list on his phone. “Maybe we should go grab a charcuterie board or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they sell those?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s find out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheese platter in hand, the two headed home, packing away their groceries and preparing for dinner that night. More or less, Tommy prepared for dinner, as Tubbo left him to wait in the living room, mindlessly watching tv. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rehearsed questions and responses like he normally did before a job, and simultaneously hated that he was doing that for his father. Tommy would often cross lines, but doing it for his father, and sometimes even for Tubbo, made him sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the time came, and Tommy grabbed the keys to the Hawkeye as Tubbo held the cheese platter. It wasn’t a long drive, his dad lived across town in the townhome complex just outside the suburban area of the city, and was just before the night rush, so they didn’t run into much traffic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parked in the small parking lot out back, and walked along the path to the third townhome down at the end, Tommy lifting his hand to knock on the door. The front door was swung open not even a few seconds later, and Tommy’s dad stepped out with a brilliant grin on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a little shorter than Tommy, but about Tubbo’s height, with sandy blond hair a few shades darker than Tommy’s, and a freckled face. He wore a black shirt with an open cream colored button up over the top, along with a dark grey pair of cargo pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi dad,” Tommy gave him a smile and pulled him into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my boy, it’s good to see you.” His dad squeezed him back, letting him go to bring Tubbo into a side hug. “And Tubbo, good to see you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We brought a cheese platter,” Tubbo handed it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took it with a sappy smile, “you two college kids shouldn’t be buying things for me. The whole point of this was that I’d be treating you to a home cooked meal for free.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad ushered them in, and closed the door behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place was familiar to Tommy, but not in the way a childhood home might be. He’d only spent maybe a year and a half out of his four actually living here, and even then, the memories were soured by the reason they’d moved here in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he still knew the layout well. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, his dad’s bedroom...his old room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to it in the hall was always closed when he visited, and Tommy never went to check on it. Tommy had wondered if his father had moved his office in there, or if he hadn’t touched it at all, but he’d decided a long time ago that it was better if he didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house smelled good, warm with meat stew. It was one of the things his dad was better at cooking, an old comfort that they used to have as a family back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hung his and Tubbo’s jackets in the closet as his dad led Tubbo into the kitchen to get them something to drink. Tommy kicked his shoes onto the mat as Tubbo called to him asking what he wanted to drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coke,” he replied as he headed in. Tubbo had put it into his hands before he’d even had a chance to step into the room. “Honestly, did you even have to ask?” He raised an eyebrow as Tubbo grinned at him. “I have the same thing every time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo broke open the cheese sampler and the three stood around the kitchen, chatting and eating cheese as they waited for the stew to finish up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s dad didn’t ask them about school right away, but asked about how living together had been going, and how they were liking having to get their own food, friendly conversation. In return, Tommy asked how work had been going, and if the neighbours were ever loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt odd to make small talk with the man who’d raised him, but on the other hand, there wasn’t much other conversation they could make. His father was a simple man. He grew up in Vegas, sure, but it hadn’t stuck. He moved to Manchester for university after he’d graduated, and had lived there up until Tommy was 15. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why he’d decided to come back to Vegas, Tommy didn’t know, he’d never asked, but he knew why they’d moved. His dad couldn’t bear living </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the memories of losing </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> still so fresh in his mind. But they didn’t talk about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy still hadn’t told anyone but Tubbo that his mother was dead, and that his father blamed himself for not being able to do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just something they’d both agreed not to mention anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father pronounced the stew done sometime around six, and the three sat at the kitchen table, eating stew and working through conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So classes are going well then?” His dad asked as he mashed down a bit of meat with his fork. “No professors giving you grief.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah it’s been alright,” Tommy nodded, “though one of my maths professors is a bit of an ass, keeps going on about stuff during lectures, and then none of the shit he puts on the tests he talked about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I remember those guys back when I was at university. They always act like they have such a stick up their ass.” He looked over to Tubbo. “And what about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s been pretty great for me,” Tubbo replied. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy and I were recently asked to join this like super exclusive club on campus, and Tommy won’t do it with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes bugged out of his skull. He saw now why Tubbo had chosen the spot farthest away from him, as he was no longer within kicking distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s dad lowered his cutlery. “Ooh, like some sort of secret society or something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda,” Tubbo nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why we aren’t supposed to talk about it,” Tommy hissed through his teeth. “It’s supposed to stay a secret for now, or else we might get in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad raised his eyebrows, “it isn’t like anything illegal, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just we aren’t supposed to tell anyone on campus.” Tubbo turned to Tommy, his eyes taking on the same scheming glint that Tommy had seen in himself before. He was going to kill Tubbo after this. “And I’m sure your dad can keep a secret, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I can!” His dad laughed, “I’m great at that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically, we got asked to join, and we went to one of their parties, and we did a hazing thing, and both got offered a spot, but Tommy won’t take it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they might just be messing with us,” Tommy grumbled. “And I don’t want to get screwed over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think they’d screw you over?” His father inquired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re taking us, two sophomores, into this super exclusive club of theirs. They’re all like... seniors and shit. I’m just waiting for the second shoe to drop and this all to be over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad nodded, “oh, hmm, yeah I can see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tubbo introjected, “we got chosen because we’re both really good at something they want in their club.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tommy’s dad raised his eyebrows. “Now this is a different angle. What did they want you for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo then paused, and Tommy watched him freeze, turning for support. “Uh…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips together. He really didn’t want to help Tubbo, but he watched as his friend’s eyes began to plead with him, and Tommy let out a loud sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They like Tubbo because he’s good with cards and dealing and shit...They run poker games and stuff for fun.” He felt the breath rattle out of his chest. “And they like me...because they think I’m funny. Like how good I am at improv and whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you told them no?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told them I’d think about it…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not try?” His dad leaned back in his chair, “what’s the worst that could happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A lot of things, actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy leaned forward, gesturing with his fork. “Well the thing is, is that I don’t trust that these are actually the people behind the club. I think they might be scamming us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo let out a long groan. “They literally took us to their official party, and had us meet official members, who we </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> are members.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t know the…” He cleared his throat, about to go on about Wilbur, when he realized that the explanation of ‘I can’t find him anywhere on the internet and he keeps making promises to not lie to me’ would raise more questions than they answered. “We just don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, as your father,” his dad gave him a warm smile, “I think you should try it out. I mean, it’s a club, right? It’s not like it’s the rest of your life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pressed his lips into a forced smile. “Yeah,” he stirred his fork around his stew. “Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the evening was kept pleasant, no more questions about school or Tubbo bringing up the ‘club’, and around eight, Tubbo and Tommy said their goodbyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as soon as they were in the car, Tommy started shouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the FUCK were you thinking?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know!” Tubbo threw his hands up, his eyes staring out the windshield in front of them. “I just thought, he’s your dad, and you trust him...maybe he of all people can knock some sense into you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that after </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have already tried every way to convince me, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the next best option?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo let out a huff, “I dunno...and I’m sorry. I realized after I started saying it that I shouldn’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah? No shit?” He started the car and put it into gear. “Jesus Tubbo, you’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car ride home was silent, and Tommy seethed in his own anger. He could be mean to Tubbo because he’d done something that could’ve gotten them both in trouble, or found out by his dad. Did Tubbo even think about how far on thin ice Tommy already was with his father? Did Tubbo even care?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Tubbo cared. He was the one being an idiot. Why the hell did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit like that sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived back at the apartment complex, and Tommy put the car into park in the lot. “I shouldn’t have called you stupid.” He said softly, pulling the keys out. “And I’m sorry, but, next time, think before you tell my dad something that could make me lose my relationship with him again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tubbo replied even softer. “I will.” He slid out of the car, grasping the cheese plate. “And thanks...for the apology.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s…” He slid out of the driver's seat, “...whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy headed up to their building, holding the door for Tubbo on the way in. He unlocked the door to their apartment, and watched as Tubbo toed off his shoes and pushed them against the wall. Tommy took his time pulling off his coat, listening to Tubbo head to put the cheese away in the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even a few seconds after he’d started kicking his shoes off that a knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. He saw Tubbo poke his head out of the kitchen, and furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Tommy pointed to the door, and Tubbo just shrugged. He pushed his lips down into a frown and checked the peephole on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was standing in the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy leaned back to see Tubbo in the kitchen. “It’s Wilbur,” he whispered across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Really?” Tubbo lifted his eyebrows, his face brightening, “open it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy grumbled and rolled his eyes, turning to open the door. Wilbur looked up at him with his familiar pouted expression. “Hello.” Tommy greeted him with a sour tone, letting his apparent annoyance drip through his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy Innit!” Wilbur’s face brightened. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yeah,” Tommy dropped his gaze to the floor and back up. “It does that. Wilbur are you here to waste my time or do you have something to say?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something to say.” Wilbur straightened his posture, something in his eyes flickering. “Dream has requested your presence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt his stomach drop. “D-Dream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. He wants to speak with you. Does tomorrow at 6pm work for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, uh, sure.” Tommy stuttered. Dream. The Dream. Wanted to meet with him. He stood there, halfway between confused and terrified. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve explained the situation to him, and he wants you on his side, Tommy.” Wilbur bent forward slightly. “I’m sure you of all people know that this is no small deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow,” he repeated Wilbur’s words. “At 6?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s when he’s requested. I’ll give you the address.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tommy ran a stray hand through his hair. “Alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pulled his phone out of his pocket, before looking Tommy up and down. “And wear something nice. Don’t make a fool of yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy watched Wilbur leave before pushing the door closed behind him. He turned around, eyes still wide. Tubbo stood at the end of the hall, out of sight from where Wilbur had been standing, his mouth hanging open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Wilbur just-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re meeting with-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Tommy pulled out his phone as he received a text from Wilbur. “I’m meeting Dream.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy parked the Hawkeye in the driveway of the massive mansion Wilbur had given him the address of. Out of all of the places he’d expected to meet Dream, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Dream</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this wasn’t exactly it. The sun was setting, and the house was heralded by the sunlight, the sky peppered with rusty orange and dappled pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d checked his reflection in the mirror a few times, licking his palms and pushing back his hair, before the clock on the dash ticked to just before seven. Tommy stepped out of the card, striding up to the front door as his chest began to thrum with the suddenly frantic beating of his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy knocked a few times, before the door was opened by a young man in a suit, who greeted him with a warm expression. “Hello, what can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Tommy. I’m supposed to have a meeting with Dream at six? I was sent by Wilbur...uh, Wilbur Soot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler pulled out his phone, and scrolled through it, nodding. “Ah, I see you on here. One Tommy Innit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man let him inside, closing the door behind them, before leading him through the massive home. The place looked beyond expensive, with old photographs on the wall Tommy could only catch glimpses of. There were photos of a younger George, and a photo of a group of people piled together, where he could just pick out Sapnap as they passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered which was Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what scared him most of all, if he was honest. The fact that in all of his research, no one ever had any clue what Dream looked like, and today, he might have the chance to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler stopped in front of a hallway, at the end of which was a large oak door, the walls trimmed in a deep, velvety green, with lights dripping with crystal lining the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His study is just down that way. Just knock on the door, to let him know you’re there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tommy responded, and glanced back at the butler who just gave him a slight nod before disappearing into the house. He drew in a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond that door was one of the most powerful men in the world. A man who had been deemed for years to be a mystery. Someone Tommy had looked up to since he’d landed himself in the position of a grifter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His footsteps echoed, just slightly, on the expensive tile that lined the floor, as he took the long trek down the hall. Tommy lifted his hand, somewhat reprehensive, and knocked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From inside came a voice, one he’d never heard before, but one that spoke with such eloquence and power, there was suddenly no doubt in his mind that he was about to face Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t quite hit him until that point. He knew who he was meeting with, and he understood </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was meeting with him, but at this point he’d convinced himself that all of this was fake. Who would trust some 19 year old kid with this sort of responsibility?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also didn’t understand why they would con him either, Wilbur had made a good point the night they’d walked the strip together. Tommy had nothing to take, nothing to gain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was a cozy little room that was practically royal. The walls were paneled to the floor with a dark wood, and up to the ceiling with that accented green wallpaper. There were no lights, except for what came from the massive fire roaring in the hearth to his left. Across from the fire were two chairs, each of them in that same forest green, upholstered with velvety fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the room was a figure, standing over a bar that was built into the wall, made of the same polished oak wood that decorated the rest of the room. It glittered with bottles, each filled with dark liquids and labeled with expensive names, all of them reflecting the fire light in a way that seemed to make them dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man at the cart stood with his back turned to Tommy, who could only see his head of dark blond hair, and the broad shoulders that held the suit trimmed in deep green that nearly faded to black in the dim lighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a thin strip of black fabric that wrapped around the back of his head, and Tommy could see the smallest hint of pure white as the man turned his face just barely. The man filled his cup, and turned. He didn’t smile, because Tommy couldn’t see his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man wore a mask. Pure white, circular, with two dots and a curved line. A mocked rendition of a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could make out a pair of ears on either side, hidden by shaggy, but styled hair, and the pale pink of his neck, and where the mask didn’t quite cover his cheeks. His suit was neat and clean, and he wore black shoes, but Tommy couldn’t help but stare at his face, or lack thereof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friendly, but eerie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was easy, gentle. “You must be Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt his shoulders tense slightly as he straightened his back. “And you’re...Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man paused, tipping his head slightly. “You sound surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, sort of.” Tommy gave him a half smile. “Half confused half starstruck.” He let his charm flow through his words the best he could. “But I guess you probably get that a lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as much as I’d like,” the man replied with a smirk in his words. He turned to gesture to the bar, “would you like something to drink?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no,” Tommy said softly. “I’m good actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then take a seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy did what he was asked, but was bubbling over with question after question, so many things he wanted to ask this man. His curiosity got the better of him before he could stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” Tommy spoke quickly, drumming his fingers on his lap nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, why not.” Dream replied, taking the seat across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the mask?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Tommy could see his face, he bet Dream had just lifted his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, anonymity,” Dream finally spoke. “It’s one of the hardest things to come by these days, especially in this city...and I like the power trip, in some ways.” He ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “Y’know,” he let out a soft laugh, “you’re the first person in a long time with the balls to ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes widened just slightly. “R-really?” Had he just crossed a line of one of the most powerful men in the country? Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was done for now. “Who...who was the last?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur, actually.” He bounced his pointer finger on the side rhymically. “And it was George before that.” Dream lifted his face so that the blackened eyes of his mask made contact with Tommy’s. “You have a lot of guts, kid. Though, guts and arrogance are sometimes the same thing.” His head cocked to the side again. “Would you say you’re an arrogant person, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not really,” Tommy replied slowly, calculating his answers carefully. “I mean, sometimes I pretend I am, but I’m not really, not like Wilbur.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Dream hummed, “Wilbur is </span>
  <em>
    <span>rightfully</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, though. Where he came from, it was the prerogative.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where was-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re a funny guy, Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re full of contradictions. You’ve got this fire in you, I’ve seen it, Wilbur’s told me about it, but you’re so unwilling to trust others.” He settled his hands in his lap. “Why is that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy raised a confused eyebrow, drawing in a short breath. “I guess, I’m just waiting for people to be people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In what way?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...assholes. People are assholes by nature, they just wanna fuck everything up, and the only people you can trust are those who you know are loyal to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you want people who are subservient to you only?” Dream crossed one leg over the other. “You want to rule those who would follow you blindly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, I didn’t really say that, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream interrupted him again. “Wilbur told me that you like being in control, is that true?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head slightly, “what is the point of all of this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to make sure you’re a good fit for the team,” Dream answered swiftly. “So do you like being in control?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, when I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be, I guess.” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhmm.” Dream uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, setting his drink on the table between them. “You’re a good liar.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you are, and with anyone else, they probably would’ve slipped right past, but I’m…” The fire light glinted off of Dream’s mask. “Some people refer to me as a human lie detector.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to lie-” Tommy felt a panic begin to grow in his chest. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> lying, wasn’t he. It was one of those things he’d forgotten about, the little tics in front of authority, the need to blend in with a crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grifters were arrogant. Regular folks weren’t. Grifters like him wanted power. Tourists were just there for a one night thrill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I did come into this expecting a man who decides that everyone around him is lying at all times to lie, but not quite to your extent, and not quite as well as you do.” Dream paused for a moment. “Some people lie like drunkards swill down beer, or lie like they’re singing, but you lie like you breath. I’ve never seen someone who lies as easily as you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt the pressure of the room cave in on him. Dream’s words were weights on his shoulders. He’d just busted this chance, he’d messed up in front of the Dream. What was he even going to tell Tubbo?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s why Wilbur thinks you’re the best catch he’s ever dragged in. It’s why I called this meeting in the first place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lifted his head to make eye contact with the blank eyed mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a place for you in this organization, Tommy, a place that will make you very rich if you play your cards right. I try my best to be honest with my people, and I hope that I can make you understand that this isn’t some sort of fated event. This is a lucky break.” Dream reached forward and lifted his drink. “You can leave, you can turn us down, and I know I’d care less. We can find and train any other wannabe on the street, but Wilbur chose you. Don’t forget that. You’re good at what you do, but you’re not great yet. We can make you great.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...of course. I understand.” Tommy waited for Dream to speak again, but the man seemed to wait for Tommy to work through the expression on his face. “Can I ask first then, what do you plan to use me and Tubbo for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly what you’re good at. Swindles, working with high profiles who need to be guided in a...certain direction.” Dream took a sip from his glass. “That sort of thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Sapnap, I know about him, am I ever going to have to do work like he does?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not unless you wanted to learn. I like to pick the best of the best in one field and hone them into the perfect weapon for different situations.” He gestured with his glass, and Tommy noticed that Dream was missing the pinky finger on his left hand. “You don’t seem like the type to like getting your hands...dirty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, starting to regret not asking for a drink as his throat grew drier by the second. “Have you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man lowered his glass back to the table. “Back when I was where you were. When I had to. So,” Dream threaded his fingers together. “Your verdict?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight panic in his stomach, that same feeling he had just before the job with Chuck West had busted. It was exciting, thrilling, and utterly terrifying. He thought about what Wilbur had said, what Tubbo had said, letting their words mull over in his mind before he thought of his own. Why was he so afraid? He was Tommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Innit, what the hell did he have to fear?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do it,” Tommy nodded. “I’ll join you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Tommy could hear the smile in Dream’s voice. “Then we’ll be in touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy left the room in a haze. The next time he remembered having a coherent thought about where he was, he was already behind the steering wheel of the Hawkeye, staring out into traffic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed open the door to his apartment to find Tubbo sitting on the couch, watching tv. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Tubbo looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. “How was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Intense,” Tommy replied. “He’s...not exactly what I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he look like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, tallish white guy, brownish hair, but I didn’t see his face. He wore a mask, Tubbo. And he was just,” Tommy shook his head. “He just...not what I expected. I agreed to work with him though, that’s the most important thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did?” Tubbo’s eyes brightened. “That’s awesome!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, it is.” Tommy kicked off his shoes and tossed himself onto the couch next to Tubbo. “I just hope I made the right decision.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TUBBO!” Tommy kicked open the door to Tubbo’s room, watching as his friend groaned and blinked sleepily up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy what the hell are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s 3:47, and it’s officially your birthday,” Tommy grinned. He pulled out his phone and showed it to Tubbo. “See?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo pulled the covers over his head. “Did you set an alarm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” he replied with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you woke me up for it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the fucking worst,” Tubbo groaned, rolling over in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy let out a laugh as Tubbo’s leg moved out to kick him. “Hey!” He dodged out of the way, laughing even louder. Tommy lowered his voice as he smiled softly, “happy birthday, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s muffled voice came from under his covers. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy returned to his bedroom, crawling back into bed with a grin on his face. He pulled out his phone as wriggled to get comfortable laying on his side. Tommy opened his messages, biting the inside of his cheek as he reread the one from Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the last ones had just been: </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Congratulations! I’m glad you finally came to your senses.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy hadn’t replied to that one, and rolled his eyes at it as he read it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy was strange, he always seemed charismatic and made sense in person, but through texts, his meaning was always pretty vague. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Take a few days to prepare for the coming onslaught of work. I know you’ll be excited to get started. Meet me next Tuesday at the International, 5:00. Dress business-ey.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d replied to that one with a simple ‘okay’, and Tubbo had shown him an identical message after he’d gotten it. They’d figured out that he must’ve meant the International Casino downtown, but both were confused as to what they were supposed to be preparing for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All they knew was that they had a few days of downtime before whatever Wilbur had in store for them, and Tommy had spent it aimlessly researching Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d managed to make it onto a few message boards, and read a few articles, but Tommy knew from experience that, especially with people in Dream’s ilk, word of mouth was the only way he’d learn anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting with Dream had been bothering him since it had taken place. The man could read him like a book, and it’d been a long time since </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> had caught him in a true lie, Wilbur excluded. Dream had managed to not only pick up on everything he was thinking, but on the lies he’d been trained to tell, the ones that melted out of his lips like an ice cube on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was similar in that way, but not in a way that completely scared Tommy. Tommy still had power over Wilbur, he’d managed to get a word in edgewise, keep secrets. There was no power he could ever hope of having over Dream. He was a man whose name alone could command rooms, and there was no way that someone like Tommy could ever find a way to have the upper hand with someone like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a sigh and placed his phone on the windowsill next to his bed. Tommy stared up at the ceiling for a brief moment, trying to think clearly, but his mind was as clouded as ever. He closed his eyes and rolled over, managing to coax himself back to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time in a long time, Tommy was awake before Tubbo, and was splayed out on the couch with a show on the tv and his computer in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning.” Tommy looked up as Tubbo stepped out of his room, a towel and some clothes draped over his arm, and his hair looking like it’d just been through a hurricane. “How are you feeling big man? The big, 2-0.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much different,” Tubbo replied. “Like I’m in that limbo between being and ‘adult’ and still not being able to drink.” He sighed as he walked towards the bathroom. “Stupid america and it’s stupid american drinking age.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you even drink?” Tommy’s face screwed up, “the last time you touched alcohol, you took one sip of my beer, and then said ‘no thanks’ and then shotgunned like ten capri-suns in a row. I honestly still don’t understand how you managed to jam a key into a juice pouch, but you made it work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, yes,” Tubbo bounced his head to the side in agreement, “but I feel like...y’know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to buy you a beer or something tonight? Get a little illegal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do illegal things all the time,” Tubbo leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I just want a normal birthday where we pretend we’re college kids, stressed about midterms and constantly tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re already one of those things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo snickered at the joke and closed the door behind him, leaving Tommy to his computer as he scrolled through his 20th tab in an economic forum that had briefly mentioned Dream, or at least, someone like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After fifteen minutes or so, Tubbo reappeared out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a mustard yellow jumper, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Birthday time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy closed his laptop, “what do you want to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go get coffee at that place on Burnham, like we did back uh, during training.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit,” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He pushed a hand up onto his forehead. “I completely forgot about that place. The one with the chocolate croissants, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! And the weird art.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lemme get my shoes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two took the Hawkeye across town and parked it a few blocks away from the cafe. Together, they walked through their old stomping grounds, hands pushed into their pockets as they braced the cold of an overcast day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, remember when we ran that scam in the bar over there?” Tubbo pointed out a seedy looking place with a moldy red overhang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rule</span>
  </em>
  <span> these streets,” Tommy sighed. “I miss it, but I also really don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, they seemed like good times,” Tubbo paused, “but they were legitimately terrible when you look back on them now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were what, 16? 17?” Tommy looked both ways before jogging across the street. “We were stupid. We’re so much smarter than that now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re still stupid.” Tubbo giggled, pushing the door open to the cafe as they approached it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not stupid,” Tommy replied firmly. “I’m, very, very, smart, I’ll have you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the guy who woke me up at 3am to tell me happy birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a nice gesture, wasn’t it?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo grinned, “it was a dumb idea, but a nice gesture.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafe was the same as it had always been, the same chocolate croissants, of which Tommy bought two, and the same weird paintings. As they waited for their coffee Tubbo pointed out how the flowers in the paintings really didn’t look like flowers, and Tommy then realized why exactly the paintings had always been so strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad I now know I used to stare at vagina paintings while waiting for my coffee.” Tommy chuckled as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, a coffee in one hand and the two croissants in the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you really not realize?” Tubbo gasped with an open mouth. “I figured it out like, the second day. I just thought it was one of those things we didn’t talk about because it was like,” he lowered his voice, “sex stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy drew in a breath through his nose. “Tubbo you really need to get out more.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo socked him in the shoulder with his free hand. “You’re saying that like it didn’t take you two and a half years to realize they were vagina paintings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Tommy tested the temperature of his coffee, scalding his tongue a little, “where to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shrugged, “people watching?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, I like that,” Tommy grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But no pickpocketing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned to Tubbo, “but that’s the funnest part!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re working for Dream now, don’t we have to be on our best behavior?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes at Tubbo. “Yeah, yeah, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked a few more blocks until Tubbo led them to a small plaza center between a few buildings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here?” Tommy asked, stopping at the archway entrance from off of the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo paused, already a few feet in front of him. “Why not? Old times, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took a seat at one of the open air black iron tables, setting their stuff down on top of it. Most people weren’t stopping to sit outside, it was cold enough out that morning that people didn’t really want to, so Tommy picked apart his croissant as he kept his eyes on the doors to the shops around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been here in years, but he still remembered what used to hang in the windows. The suits that he dreamed about owning, the watches on display, phones much too expensive for him to afford, and silk ties that looked as smooth and luminous as snakeskin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy remembered walking this way to the restaurant he used to work in after he left home, staring at the windows, constantly reminded of his nearly empty bank account. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered walking with his mentor his first week under his tutelage, who asked him to point out everything he wanted from the window. Tommy still had that suit and tie in the back of his closet. The phone he’d bought was still a weight in his pockets. The watch had broken a long time ago, but Tommy was never much a fan of checking the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More importantly, this plaza was where-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long ago was it?” Tubbo asked as he uncapped his drink, blowing over the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it was the summer,” Tommy recalled, “I think maybe July, so two and a half years ago...I still remember the look on your face when I caught you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, it was so embarrassing.” Tubbo pressed his fingers gently against his eyes. “I thought that you’d be an easy mark, just a kid in a suit, living off of daddy’s money. It really went pear shaped quicker than I expected.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I even say?” Tommy leaned back in his chair with a smile, holding his coffee in one hand. “Wasn’t it like, ‘hey kid, don’t take people’s things without asking’ or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You grabbed my arm and everything.” Tubbo slammed his hand into his fist as he looked up. “Ooh! I just remember, you called me </span>
  <em>
    <span>punk</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I didn’t,” Tommy shook his head with a chuckle. “What am I, 40?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! You did!” Tubbo laughed with a warmth that made Tommy press his lips together in a giddy smile he couldn’t help but make. “And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> got involved, and decided to take me under his wing too, along with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, teacher…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo went quiet for a moment, picking apart his blueberry muffin with his fingers. “How do you think he’s been?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the rules,” Tommy sighed. “He told us to forget about him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Tubbo grumbled. “But sometimes I wonder if he’d be proud of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how he is.” He made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Even if he was, he’d never tell us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two dropped the topic and fell back into their normal conversations. They spent some more time walking around and popping in and out of stores, but never bought anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your birthday.” Tommy raised an eyebrow as they stepped out of another store. “Don’t you want to buy anything? Splurge a little?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I feel like I should save a little this year.” Tubbo pushed open the door to the store next door. “Sometimes it’s nice to just window shop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two headed back to the apartment after a few hours out, hanging out in the living room as they sunk another hour and a half into a movie Tubbo had been begging Tommy to watch with him. It wasn’t bad, and Tommy was just happy to make Tubbo happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ordered thai from the place Tubbo liked down the block, and Tommy picked it up, returning with a bag of boxes that held heavenly smelling food. He grabbed some last minute things from his room he’d been hiding, and poked his head into Tubbo’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Food’s here, and I’ve got a surprise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tubbo’s face bloomed into a confused grin as Tommy beckoned him out of their open apartment door. “Okay, where are you taking me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Tommy smiled even wider. “It’s gonna be fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started up the stairs, and led Tubbo up to the roof of the building, where he’d set up a table and chairs, along with a few lights scattered around so that they’d be able to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roof dinner?” Tubbo exclaimed, “it really is like old times!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’d been working under their teacher, they used to escape up to the roof to eat dinner together when he had clients over. Together they’d look up at whatever stars were visible, and talk about life, and the day they’d each had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was there that they’d really become best friends, and there that they’d told each other all the secrets only friends could tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spread the boxes on the table, pulling out some paper plates and cutlery, and setting them in front of Tubbo. Tommy then placed the box of capri-sun on the table to the left, and watched as Tubbo got starry-eyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You GOT them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did,” he laughed. “Alright, I am starving, let’s eat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They devoured their food between jokes and stories they’d both heard hundreds of times. It was nice, but there was a creeping feeling in Tommy’s stomach. A deep worry that it might be the last time they had the chance to do this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tossed their empty boxes into the trash in the stairwell as Tubbo dragged their chairs to the edge of the roof, where they could overlook the lights of the city far across the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo punched a straw into his fifth capri-sun of the night and took a sip. “This was a really nice birthday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good.” Tommy leaned back into the lawn chair. “I hoped I wouldn’t make it shitty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s pretty much perfect.” Tubbo nodded, pushing the straw into the corner of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think I did a pretty damn good job, what could make it better?” He held up a hand, “wait, almost forgot. Your present.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo turned to him with a bright smile. “Present?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, here. I hope you like it.” Tommy pulled a shittly wrapped present from the pocket of his sweatshirt and handed it to Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo pulled off the wrapping paper and let out a gasp. Inside was a deck of cards, held within a ornate golden box decorated with flowers and plants. He pulled them out, his mouth falling open as he flipped through cards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of them are hand painted, and I helped finalize the designs myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy they’re...perfect.” He set them onto the table next to him and leaned over the chair arm to grab Tommy in a massive hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, and oh, okay, you don’t have to be all clingy and shit Tubbo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my birthday,” Tubbo pulled away. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be as clingy as I want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Tommy watched as Tubbo practiced shuffling the cards. He opened his mouth, not quite sure if he should ask what was on his mind. His curiosity got the better of him. “Did your mom call at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo sighed softly. “No. Not yet at least.” He shook his head as his shuffling got a little more frantic. “She’s probably busy or something. She’s always working, I’m sure she just hasn’t had the time. I know she’ll text me sooner or later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she will,” Tommy replied even quieter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did get one from your dad though,” Tubbo reordered the cards. “He even sang for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof, cringy dad singing, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was actually pretty sweet of him.” He let his head fall to one side as he pushed the cards back into their box. “And thank you again for these, I know they’ll come in handy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy drew in a breath, patting his legs as he attempted to change the subject. “Things are really changing, aren’t they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it feels like they are,” Tubbo nodded. “Like the beginning of a new era.” He turned to look at Tommy. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Tommy nodded. “Still terrified of Dream, and I really still want to bash Wilbur’s nose in for several reasons, but overall fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What even happened with that meeting? You didn’t really want to talk about it when you came home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was...unexpected.” Tommy bit his lip. “I’m trying to think of how best to say this. I expected a rich mark, someone who could charm their way out of every situation. Dream was different, he was harsh, critical, analytical.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In what way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of my tricks didn’t work on him. Even lies </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t even clocked as lies, he knew weren’t the truth before I did.” He shook his head, “he’s powerful in the kind of way that I’d fully believe that if he wanted someone dead, he’d be able to do it himself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scary,” Tubbo murmured. “Good we’re working for him rather than against him then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Tommy shrugged. “It was just...he felt soulless, not like grifter soulless, but like he’d been around the block enough to memorize everything about it.” He snapped his fingers, “like that one guy teacher brought us to see. The kind of guy that’s always five steps ahead, and anyone slower just annoys them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then it sounds like we should stay out of his way, and on his good side at all costs,” Tubbo laughed nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never want to be like that.” Tommy spoke softly, his voice raising as he became more sure.. “As deep as we get into this, I never want to become like him or his people. We get out when we have the chance.” He turned to look at Tubbo. “Will you promise me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best,” Tubbo responded, before Tommy raised an eyebrow. “I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Tommy nodded. “Then when this is all over, we go somewhere for a while, make our own organization, hell, maybe even start our own casino.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the sound of that,” Tubbo perked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as we’re together.” Tommy let out a sigh that calmed the fear that had begun to boil in his stomach. “I know I’ll be happy.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The International</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The front of the International Casino was lit up in blues and reds, shimmering into purple where they crossed over, and watching the people that passed by through the shining doors, Tommy felt underdressed. Everyone else around him wore dresses that looked expensive, and suits that had to clock at over a thousand dollars each.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Tubbo wore starkly different outfits, with Tommy in a pair of black jeans and a red button up dotted with white. Tubbo was wearing what he normally wore to deal, a pair of black slacks, a white button up, and a deep blue vest with a tie in a similar color. Over it, he’d put on one of Tommy’s black suit jackets that didn’t fit him too well, but he’d squared up his shoulders, and Tubbo had smoothed it enough to look somewhat decent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, there you two are.” Wilbur glided towards them in a pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater with a white collar peeking out at his neckline, his same circular glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I’m glad you could make it on time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What exactly are we doing?” Tommy asked as he turned to face Wilbur. “You didn’t say much in your message.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here to </span>
  <em>
    <span>teach</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, of course.” Wilbur smiled, and Tommy wanted to sock him in the jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we already know quite a bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man let out a huff through his nose as if to laugh. “But it’s always good to expand your mind, isn’t it?” He put his hands on his hips. “I mean, there’s only so much you can learn grifting on your own like you’ve done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we did have a teacher-” Tubbo began before Tommy snapped his head towards him. “Or um, there was someone we used to watch a lot...on the internet...learned a lot from him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Tommy fumbled for a moment, “really nobody. Just some dude, but please, by all means, teach us.” He flicked his eyes to Tubbo. “I know both of us would love to learn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sucked in a breath. “I’m going to just gloss over that and start at the beginning.” He gestured with a hand up to the casino. “This is the International-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The second largest casino in Vegas, owned by the Multinia Casino Corporation, which your friend Skeppy owns, I believe.” Tommy interrupted swiftly. “Rakes in just over a billion dollars a year on its own, and is known as one of the biggest tourist traps in Vegas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pressed his lips together. “Exactly.” He sounded unamused. “You really know this casino.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know all of them,” Tommy replied with a smile. “It was kind of my job back in the day to know things about all of the local venues, casinos, underground poker games, local heads of power of criminal or legitimate organizations.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you probably won’t need any of those skills tonight,” Wilbur clapped his hands together. “Tonight, I’m teaching you a staple of Vegas. Do you two know ‘The Local’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Of course we do,” he looked to Tubbo. “We know that one, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the one where you give them a fake address?” Tubbo questioned, “ooh, or is it the tour guide robbing one, I never liked that one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur furrowed his eyes together with taken aback concern. “Seriously, who taught you these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Internet,” Tommy replied. “I told you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he pulled his eyes away from Tommy. “This one is a bit more simple.” He lowered his voice. “All you need to know is that we’re a bunch of local casino dwellers, and that we know our way around town. And I’ll teach you to do it drunk. Just follow my lead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo started to protest, but Wilbur had already begun walking towards the entrance of the casino, Tommy following behind him. The International was nice, as bright and colorful as they came, with massive fountains in the entrance hall, and staircases that lead up to the hotel rooms to either side, and straight down the middle, the entrance to the casino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pulled them towards the back of the room as they entered, somewhere where they didn’t look suspicious, but where they could watch the crowd with ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, in order for this to really sell, we need a good mark. Touristy and smart, but gullible and overly friendly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy scanned the room, spotting a few men in business suits at a poker table. He motioned to them with a flick of his chin. “What about those gents over there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shook his head. “Do you see the way their suits are cut? The sharp angle of the collar is signature in Italian style, and the tie color means they have Romano affiliations.” He cocked his head to the side. “It would be an impossible grift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely not,” Tommy responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best case scenario, they let you off with a missing finger, worst case scenario, you end up dead in the Bellagio fountain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, missing finger?” Tommy remembered his meeting with Dream, and his lack of pinky finger on his left hand. “Is that common?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, usually with Romanos, and some other lowertown mobsters, but not too common outside of that, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy scanned the crowd, shaking his head. “Just curious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked towards Tubbo, who was doing his best to play the part. “See anyone interesting?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not really great with that kind of thing,” Tubbo confessed quickly as he looked up at Wilbur. “I’m a cards guy, not a people person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s expression softened slightly, in a kind way that Tommy hadn’t seen him express before. “Then look for how people play. You’ve dealt enough, you must be able to tell people by their playing style by now, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d have to get up close and watch-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then go,” Wilbur patted Tubbo on the back. “That’s the point of picking a mark after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo stumbled forward, walking quickly before slowing his pace, watching the tables as he moved. Wilbur watched him go before looking at Tommy. “Do you drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s have a few.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Legitimately?” Tommy raised an eyebrow as Wilbur already started towards the restaurant he’d seen on his way in. “Are we leaving Tubbo all alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has a phone, doesn’t he?” Wilbur said without turning around. “He can call.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took another look over his shoulder at Tubbo before turning around, and following Wilbur back out of the casino. He walked through the restaurant entrance, following Wilbur to the open bar at the back. Wilbur ordered a drink for each of them, handing Tommy the plastic cup it was served in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My favorite,” Wilbur replied. “I think you’ll like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took a drink and raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They headed back into the casino just as Tubbo was leaving, chatting with none other than Skeppy. “I was wondering where you two went,” Tubbo said with a grin. “Look who I happened to bump into!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked up at Wilbur. “Is this another planned thing of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No actually,” Wilbur replied. “I didn’t even know you’d be here tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Bad headed back home to visit family, and I was invited to an event here later tonight.” Skeppy smiled, his eyes were bright with a sort of mischief that peaked Tommy’s interest. “What about you? I feel like I never see you out and about anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream keeps me busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy snapped his fingers, “speaking of which, there’s a meeting in a few weeks, right, the discussion for the start of the year?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t remember hearing about that,” Tommy interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not on that email thread yet,” Wilbur responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have an </span>
  <em>
    <span>email</span>
  </em>
  <span> thread?” Tommy retorted with a snort. “A very scary way for the very scary organization to communicate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An independant email server constantly monitored by the best hacker money can buy, actually.” Skeppy clasped his hands together in front of his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you don’t have to lay it on so thick,” Tommy muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything I can do for you all?” Skeppy asked with a broad grin. “Any grifts? I used to be pretty good at those back in the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If your idea of grift is pissing off a bunch of powerful figures who are practically Vegas royalty to the point of almost irreparable damage, then yes, your grifting was wonderful.” Wilbur deadpanned without breaking eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked between Skeppy and Wilbur, and then back to Skeppy. The latter’s expression was playful, his eyes bright, while Wilbur looked like he might snap his plastic cup in his hand in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you used to be Skeppy’s fixer?” Tommy blurted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did!” Skeppy looked towards Tommy with a grin. “He used to fix for my family before I took over the company a few years ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Wilbur said through a gritted smile. “I cleaned up a few of his messes.” His expression settled a little as he straightened his back and smiled. “I had to dig you out of a few scrapes involving Bad back in those early days.” Tommy watched Skeppy’s expression fall slightly. “Your family wanted...differently than you did, I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I own the company now.” Skeppy’s voice was cheerful, but razor thin. “New blood, new ideas. Bad included.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had remembered Wilbur mentioning their relationship briefly during the meeting a few weeks back, and it didn’t take too much thought to realize what both of them were playing at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.” Wilbur looked away from Skeppy towards the people playing games on the main floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” Skeppy narrowed his eyes slightly at Tommy. “You two were the ones who could play poker as a duo, while cheating, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yes. We did.” Tommy replied, trying to keep his words short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The reason I’m here was actually because I was invited to a poker game some of the people in charge of the International organized for a group of wealthy investors.” Skeppy pushed his hands into the pockets of his faded cerulean blue suit jacket. “You mind showing off at all, for me at least, we don’t have to let them know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the scam involves me being the dealer,” Tubbo spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s perfect actually. The reason I even came down here was that I was looking for a dealer to run the game.” Skeppy cocked his head to the side. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I do.” Tubbo’s eyes brightened before he flicked his head to Wilbur. “If it’s alright with you, I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked at Skeppy for a long moment, before he sighed at the ground and nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be fine...everyone here doesn’t look like enough of a mark anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awesome!” Skeppy led them through the casino, heading towards the back through a set of doors and down some stairs. “Alright, Tubbo you’re the dealer I picked for us tonight. Tommy, you’re a late addition to our group. Wilbur, are you in to play?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Wilbur responded, “if it makes the story easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll know you Wilbur, so Tommy, you’re a friend from out of town.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like he made it harder,” Tommy joked softly. “You have to pretend to be my friend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” Wilbur replied. “I’ll just act incompetant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Tommy could respond with a snide comment, they approached another set of doors, this time guarded by two bouncers in black shirts. Skeppy gave them a wave, and they pushed the door open, revealing a comfortable room decorated with wood paneling on the walls, a bar at the back stocked with drinks, and an almost stereotypical poker table with a green light hanging from the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several men in suits sat around it, smoking, drinking, and talking as they all organized their chips. Some of them turned at the sound of the door opening, and one of them brightened, “hey, what took you so long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had to find a good dealer,” Skeppy replied. “And I ran into some late additions. Everyone, you all know Wilbur.” A few of them raised a hand in greeting or gave him a nod. “This is his friend Tommy, from out of town.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made a motion with his head at Tubbo, who nodded in that same jittery way he got when dealing in these sorts of situations. Tommy watched as he rounded the table to the dealer’s spot, and grabbed his deck of cards from the spot inside the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy pointed Tommy out a seat at the left end of the table, and situated Wilbur to his right. Tommy elbowed Wilbur slightly, “better not try to screw me over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’ll try my best,” Wilbur said deadpan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo dealt with ease, the cards falling from his hands and into those of the men at the table. It took a few rounds for him and Tommy to set up a baseline, but eventually, they managed to figure out each other’s rhythm, and were playing as fluidly as they’d ever been. Skeppy watched them so blatantly, and with such excitement, that Tommy was sure they’d get called out, but people seemed to be more focused on the alcohol that seemed to get passed around more than their cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur kept throwing Tommy curveballs with his playing, raising almost every round he could, so that he could keep Tommy on the low end with chips. He tried his best to mess up Wilbur right back, and managed to make a few moves that made a dent in Wilbur’s own pile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo went right along dealing like no one was watching, but Tommy saw his eyes flick up to catch Skeppy’s every once and awhile, who continued to look between Tommy and Tubbo at every chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hadn’t drank that much in ages, not since he found a stash in the old building they used to live in. His head was clear enough to think, but his words were looser, and his thoughts seemed to travel a million miles a minute. For a moment, he even thought about not using his next turn to fuck over Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed to be the same for the others, as the conversation got a little less surface, and a little more politics. Tommy had never interacted with higher status guys like these, they were practically grifters, just with the money grifters normally pretended to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even think that this Mayor of ours has been doing his job recently.” One of the investors spoke as Tommy listened partially into conversation. After his flub at the Osprey because of Wilbur, he’d been practicing tuning out chatty players. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he’s keeping all of us where we are,” Skeppy replied. “I don’t think we have much to complain about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the others laughed, but the investor seemed genuinely concerned. “He keeps approving of all of these damn encroachments on our territory by newcomers. I mean, take that, uh, what’s his name, that Dream kid for example.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy caught the mention but didn’t react. Wilbur and Skeppy masked it similarly, but Tubbo reacted just slightly as his eyes flicked up to the investor’s face. Unfortunately, the investor seemed to catch the motion, “you know him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, heard of him,” Tubbo replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Insane, </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span> what the Mayor’s letting these...fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>grifters</span>
  </em>
  <span> get their grubby hands on our clients,” he held up a hand. “No offense to you Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None taken,” Wilbur responded with a fake smile. “I deal with plenty of them already. They hold no candle to the deft with which all of you work.” He sighed wistfully as he played a hand that once again screwed Tommy over. “I miss those days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Soot, always nice to hear the old guard’s still being appreciated,” another investor grinned before picking up where the other left off. “Not to mention the lengths these creeps go to, that Dream guy, you heard about his finger, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rush of sudden intrigue caught his attention as the man spoke, and Tommy lifted his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They say that he got into a scrape with some boss, who threatened to cut off his finger, and he bit it off himself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, nah, nah,” another guy who’d had the most to drink out of all of them slurred. “It was to prove a point to that old gang he ran with, they asked him to prove his loyalty, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>chopped</span>
  </em>
  <span> it off and gave it to the boss. Guy was so freaked out he just handed the kid his title.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the more sober investors shook his head. “No way any of this is true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has to be,” Tommy interojected. “He’s missing his pinky, I’ve seen it.” Then suddenly all eyes were on him. He looked up from his cards and swallowed. “Uh, yeah, he um, I was at one of his parties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true,” Wilbur replied, shuffling through his own. “And he did chop it off, but he didn’t give it to the boss.” Tommy’s stomach dropped as Wilbur placed his winning hand on the table. “He ate it. Wears it as a necklace even.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m gonna be sick.” one of the men got up from the table and hurried towards the door at the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the fixer’s got the winning story and the winning hand,” another grumbled. “As always.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo gathered up the cards and chips as the investors began to gather their things and leave. Skeppy grinned at them, his words a bit slurred from the liquor, and loud from excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was incredible, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody play like that before. You worked so cohesively, all three of you.” Skeppy snapped at Wilbur and gave him a wink. “And nice save there at the end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was no problem,” Wilbur shrugged. Tommy waited for a dirty look or pointed comment about his incompetence, but nothing came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t mean to me,” he said dumbfoundedly, and then, “I think I’m a little tipsy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am too,” Wilbur blinked slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As always, I’m the only sober one,” Tubbo sighed. “C’mon, let’s take you two home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t know where I live-” Wilbur interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo grabbed both of them by the shoulders and led them upstairs. “You can give me your address.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I can, can’t I.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed them both into the back of the Hawkeye as Wilbur gave him unhelpful directions, before handing over his phone reluctantly. Tommy sat in the back with Wilbur, which he told Tubbo was in case he threw up, he didn’t want to ruin the passenger seat forever, and the back window was easier to open anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to look at Wilbur after staring out the front window made him more nauseous than he already was, watching the flashes of light from street lamps go by. Wilbur turned his head suddenly, making direct eye contact with Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Staring at me, Tommy Innit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking outside made me nauseous, looking at you makes me less nauseous.” Tommy replied truthfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows together, “bad compliment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a compliment,” Tommy shook his head, which only made it spin more. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to compliment me,” Wilbur narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not about the compliment, ‘bout the thing I said. Shouldn’t’ve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have let you drink.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tommy nodded. Wilbur nodded back, before turning to look back out the window. Tommy did the same, leaning his head against the window as he closed his eyes. He dreamed very briefly of three bright lights pressing against his eyelids, one on the right flickered out, before the other to the left faded to black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The final brightened, haloing Tubbo’s face as he shook Tommy’s shoulder. He let Tubbo grab him under his arm and help walk him up the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tommy fell into his bed, he closed his eyes again. This time, the lights were gone, and despite the name on his mind when he finally drifted off, he fell into a dreamless sleep. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Paperwork</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things had been relatively cordial between Wilbur and Tommy since the game at the International. It seemed that both hadn’t forgotten their conversation in the car, though their interactions had been purely business, rather than jabs at one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy slid into his car as they finished another pseudo-job, Wilbur taking the passenger’s seat next to him. Tubbo was working with Skeppy on his security, so it had just been them for the evening. Wilbur had finally taught him ‘The Local’, which was befriending tourists and taking them out for a drink, before revealing that you didn’t have your wallet, but would meet them in the same location and pay them back, only to not make good on the promise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple scam, but a scheme for free drinks. “It compounds,” Wilbur had said. “You pull the Local, you can pull anything. It’s a test of how willing people are to trust you off of almost nothing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently people trusted a face like his. A nice smile on a young face went a long way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take a left here,” Wilbur said abruptly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, why?” Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought I was dropping you off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need to pick something up first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur guided him through the city, until they took a street that he recognized. “Are we heading to the headquarters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I need some papers I left in my office.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have like an office there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A small one,” Wilbur rubbed his face. “Sometimes I take clients there if they pertain to a job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled into the driveway, and Wilbur got out of the car. He waited for a moment, before opening the door again. “Aren’t you coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said it was just some papers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a lot of papers, you’ll see.” Wilbur gestured with his head. “C’mon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly enough for Wilbur to hear. He locked the car and jogged after Wilbur towards the front of the mansion. A different butler than when he’d been here before let them in, this time, they didn’t stop to ask him why he was here, just greeted Wilbur with a hello, and asked if they needed their coats put away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not here for long,” Wilbur replied. “Just grabbing some things.” He made a quick gesture to Tommy. “This is one of the newer members.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gave the butler a wave before Wilbur started down the hall, and he moved to trail after him. They stopped finally at a door upstairs, as Wilbur fiddled with a set of keys he drew out of his pocket, with it, he unlocked the door, and they stepped in together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room really was pretty small, with a desk and two chairs, one on either side at the end of the room, and massive bookshelves filled with three ring binders, heavy books with worn spines, and huge stacks of paperwork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t kidding,” Tommy lifted his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit.” Wilbur bent down to pick something up off of the ground that seemed to have been slid under the door. “Dream thinks he’s clever.” He moved around the desk and slit open the top, sliding out the papers inside. Wilbur read through them, flipping through a few sheets before sighing. “I thought I was done with paperwork for the month,” he groaned. “Faceless bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, both at the insult and in confusion. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur snapped his fingers. “If you had plans on going home in the new few hours, cancel them, I’ve got work for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to seriously make me do </span>
  <em>
    <span>paperwork</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy stepped back towards the door. “I’m here to work for Dream as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>grifter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not your paper monkey, Wilbur.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad,” Wilbur set the papers down. “Because not all of your work for Dream, even as a grifter, is field work. You have to do this stuff just as much as I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Je</span>
  </em>
  <span>-sus, really?” He cocked his head. “You better not have me about to be signing some sus fucking papers man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No signing, just making sure everything is accounted for.” Wilbur moved towards the door and motioned to Tommy with a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they headed down the stairs to a room down the hall, filled with files stuffed with paper. The two of them made a few trips back and forth, and after about fifteen minutes of Wilbur teaching him what to look for, the very boring job of looking over gang paperwork began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mostly reports on jobs, field assignments, and purchases made, all written in a code that made it impossible to read for anyone but them. They were supposed to check them over for correct translations before moving them along to their hacker team which would encrypt them onto an offshore server and make them impossible to find before burning the paper evidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the way to keep everything above board. Tommy knew from his time learning about gangsters that it was never the racketeering or the extortion that got them in the end, but things as simple as tax evasion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost two hours in, Wilbur suggested they order food, and Tommy supplied the place he and Tubbo always got take-out from when they needed something quick and relatively cheap. It arrived in less than a half an hour, and the two picked apart the different boxes and utensils to start eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur leaned back in his chair, and Tommy attempted to put his feet up onto the desk, only for Wilbur to knock them off. “Get your feet off, this desk was nearly 3,500 dollars.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>WHAT</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy practically shouted. “Why the hell would you spend so much on something you probably barely use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to have nice things,” Wilbur shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at the paperwork next to him sideways as he read over the translation on his phone, pushing food into his mouth at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised an eyebrow at him. “You know you can take a break to eat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy looked up. “But it’s either look at paperwork, or try to make conversation with you, and one of those things is impossible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can talk if you want, Tommy,” he lifted his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about?” Tommy laughed into his box of food. “All you know is ‘harass Tommy and be the worst’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s an over exaggeration.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” Tommy scrunched up his face as Wilbur sighed and stabbed his fork into his food with a smile. “What would we even talk about, I know nothing about you, and I doubt I’ll learn anything more about you by asking. You’ll do that stupid fixer circular wording thing to throw me off the trail.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really? Where did you learn that fixers do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There!” Tommy stabbed at Wilbur with his fork. “See, you’re trying to throw me off the scent. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> find out things about you, but you’re some sort of weirdo who is untraceable on the internet, and for someone in your standing, that’s impossible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my ways,” Wilbur smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’ve monitored so many different forums and tagged searches, except for when Tubbo…” Tommy paused, trying to correct himself. “Uh, fucks with the internet and messes my stuff up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what was that?” Wilbur narrowed an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said Tubbo and then paused.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fucking fixers. Worse than grifters when it came to body language... “I said he fucks with the internet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that wouldn’t affect forums or tagged searches.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing Wilbur,” Tommy looked down into his carton of food. “Just leave it be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you tell me, and I will give you a completely truthful answer about any question you ask me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s head snapped up to look at Wilbur. “Can I save it for a later time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you have to ask it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything I know the answer to, I’ll tell you truthfully.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good proposition, but there was no way he knew Wilbur would even tell him the truth. “Can you swear to me that you won’t lie or cop out of any answer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would I even swear on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy put his finger down onto the desk. “This.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur rolled his eyes and placed a hand on the desk and another over his heart. “I Wilbur Soot solemnly swear not to lie to Tommy Innit about whatever question he is going to ask me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a huffed snort and pressed his lips together. “Alright. Tubbo, he uh, will check my browser history.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the actual fuck?” Wilbur leaned back slightly, his face screwed up. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to get pretty obsessed with things back when we were uh, first starting out. He checks my history to make sure I’m not doing that again, falling down rabbit holes, getting in trouble. That’s basically it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you hide the fact that you’re doing what he’s trying to stop you for doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well he doesn’t know that I know he checks my history.” Tommy made a motion with his hand. “He’s the kind of guy who likes to bring things up by easing them into conversation, not just outright telling me he knows.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your relationship is…” Wilbur’s eyes flicked across the room and then back to Tommy. “Something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Tommy rubbed the back of his arm. “We’ve always had each other. We keep each other out of trouble, that’s the deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The deal?” Wilbur raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already told you enough,” Tommy narrowed his eyes, but his voice didn’t go sharp. “Now it’s my turn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask away,” Wilbur waved his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as he looked to the man across from him. The question came to him before he had another chance to think. “Were you telling the truth when you said that Dream cut off his own finger and ate it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Wilbur sighed. “Sort of. The truth is, that nobody knows why, but from what I’ve been told, that’s the closest thing to the truth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you been told?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The same variations of the story, but none of them hit quite as hard as a man cutting off and eating his own finger to intimidate someone.” He shrugged. “But as far as I know, he’s been missing the finger since before he even met George.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Tommy snapped his fingers. “What the hell is even going on between those two?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A long, convoluted story that goes back too many years, with too many spats of drama hyped up by the local gossip.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they…?” Tommy lifted an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one really knows, to be honest, Dream keeps everything about himself, especially personal relationships beyond private, and George is...George. Can’t really read that one at all, can you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He compared their relationship to the Great Gatsby I’m pretty sure,” Tommy grinned, lifting his drink up from the table. “He is...dramatic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did?” Wilbur's face lit up. “He’s moved on from referring to them as Benvolio and Mercutio, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy bit the straw sticking out of the plastic cup sitting in his lap. “I have no idea in the slightest what that means.” He fiddled with the paper that had come with his straw. “Do you have a girlfriend Wilbur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur choked on his drink as a scotch and soda nearly came out of his nose. “Why would you ask that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, just wondering,” Tommy replied with a shrug. “Trying to get to know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t, at the moment.” Wilbur folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve had them in the past, but eventually...they find out about my work, or people involved with the fixing business try to use a significant other as leverage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tommy snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stared him down blankly. “I’m a lonely man by choice, not by circumstance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sad,” he replied bluntly. “I used to get so many women before becoming a grifter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you?” Wilbur’s face twisted up into a smile. “Did they fall at your feet and beg you to date them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like you’re mocking me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, just a little.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flipped the topic before Wilbur could. “So how did you manage to hide yourself on the internet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already answered your one question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed, “you can’t make one exception?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I make one exception, then I’ll just start making exceptions for you all the time, it’s a slippery slope, Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?” He set his empty carton down on the table. “I’ll tell you anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Anything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small smile flickered over Wilbur’s face. “Who did you used to work for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy paused, opening his mouth before closing it. “I’ve never worked for anyone besides myself and now Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it was still your question-” Tommy put a finger up. “So now, how do you hide yourself on the internet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy that’s in no way fair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, hmm, I don’t know, I’d say it is. You asked me a question, I gave you an answer, simple as that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still not fair,” Wilbur held up his own finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me, man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he snorted. “I know a hacker who happened to set it up for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how do you know him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had one question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s personal,” he replied with a sudden sharpness. “And anyway, I think that’s enough for now. We should get back to work.” Wilbur set his food aside and picked up some papers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Tommy raised an eyebrow, but got no response. He gulped down the rest of his food and continued to work, now in relatively uncomfortable silence. He looked up at Wilbur every so often, as if hoping to initiate conversation, but Wilbur never looked away from the papers in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Wilbur pronounced them done, and together, they headed out to the Hawkeye to head home. Tommy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his mind bubbling with more questions </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can practically hear your thinking,” Wilbur grumbled. He had his head leaning against his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I thinking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to know the connection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah.” Tommy stated it like it was obvious. “I might need it in the future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur paused for a long moment before speaking. “I’ll tell you who it is,” he finally said. “But I get another question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tommy looked towards him before back towards the road. “Who is it then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hacker is my nephew, a guy called Fundy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nephew</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He exclaimed, “how old is he, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how old are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just a few years younger than myself. I have siblings that are much older than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know I always pegged you for an only child like me, we have that energy. You have older siblings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter. Now, my question,” Wilbur interrupted. “I want to know who trained you, because it’s clear it wasn’t the internet, or things you picked up on your own. Someone obviously taught you what they knew.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “Why do you want to know so fucking bad, man? It’s just constant, ‘who’s your teacher, who’s your teacher’. I told you, Tubbo and I learned in a way I can’t...I can’t tell you about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By telling you, I’d be breaking a promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> trained by someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tommy sighed. “Happy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But who was it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I told you, they’d kill me.” He held up a finger without looking away from the road. “And that’s not a joke. He’s...uh, he’s a powerful guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could hear the smirk in Wilbur’s voice. “So he’s a he, interesting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna find him anyway, he’s like you, he’s good at making himself disappear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled them up in front of Wilbur’s apartment, and put the car into park, only for Wilbur to stay sat in the passenger seat for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go now.” He moved his hands from the steering wheel to cross against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re welcome? Wait, for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember, the meeting is three days from now, you’re expected to be there. Both you and Tubbo.” Wilbur pushed the door open, stepping out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything okay?” Tommy leaned over to watch Wilbur stand fully straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be late,” he caught the words faintly as Wilbur slammed the door shut. It wasn’t purposefully hard, but it gave Tommy enough time to catch Wilbur’s expression in the mirror. A slight grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that meant.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Every time I see people guessing characters in the comments and get it right I violently fist pump as I gain 10 years on my life. to the person who said fundy, feel vindicated :))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Mountains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy wasn’t sure how the hell <em> George </em> had gotten his number, but when he received a text inviting him and Tubbo out to an address in the mountains, signed by the man himself, and it wasn’t like he could exactly refuse. </p><p>Together, they got into the Hawkeye, and drove the forty-five minute trip out. It was pretty, Tommy had to admit, he didn’t really get out of the city much anymore, with all the time spent with his nose in his computer, or working the casino, there was no reason to leave. </p><p>The desert was massive, dotted with shrubbery and the movement of what looked to be an animal far off in the distance. Or maybe that was just the heat beginning to rise off of the road. </p><p>Despite it being the colder months, the temperature still got warm enough to fry your fingers off touching the steering wheel after leaving your car out for too long. The mountains came faster than he expected, and as they got deeper into the heart, he began to clock several gated roads.</p><p>Apparently the rich and infamous liked their winter homes in the mountains. </p><p>Tommy pulled into one such road as his GPS told him to, rolling down his window as he spotted the speaker on one side. </p><p>“Who is this?” A voice spoke. </p><p>“Uh, Tommy Innit? And Tubbo.” </p><p>“Oh, you’re here. I’ll tell George.” </p><p>The gate swung open less than a minute later, and the two pulled up to a mansion just slightly smaller than the one in Vegas. It had a sprawling lawn with real grass, and a small fountain bubbled in the entryway. </p><p>A small group of cars were pulled into the drive, and Tommy parked the Hawkeye behind one, where he could easily pull out and leave if he wanted to. </p><p>“Do you know why they want us here?” Tubbo asked as he closed the door. </p><p>“I don’t.” Tommy turned towards the house. “Let’s hope it’s for good reasons.” </p><p>The two approached the front door, only to find it open. Tommy stepped inside, “hello?” </p><p>“Everyone’s in the backyard.” The two looked up to see Sapnap coming down the stairs. He wore a long shirt and a baggy coat over the top. “I don’t really know why George wants you here, but...c’mon.” </p><p>The two of them followed behind him as he led them out to a lush backyard overlooking the desert below, where off in the distance, Tommy thought he could make out the shimmer of the city. </p><p>People were dressed somewhat nice, everyone eating from small plates and sipping from tiny glasses. Tommy picked George out almost immediately. He wore a suit that looked like a stained glass window had shattered onto his clothes, or maybe the shifting patterns of a kaleidoscope. All of the patterns seemed shimmer as he moved, and he turned as he heard the door open.</p><p>His smile was infectious, and Tommy could see Tubbo brighten next to him, but tried to keep a scowl on his face. </p><p>“You’re babysitting,” Sapnap muttered as he brushed past George. </p><p>“Don’t be rude, Sap.” George only grinned wider. “They’re my guests!” </p><p>“And we’re not children,” Tommy snapped. </p><p>Sapnap raised an eyebrow as he flipped around to face Tommy. “Whatever you say, <em> kid </em>.” </p><p>Tommy’s nostrils flared, but George stepped in front of Sapnap, and he refocused his gaze on the man. </p><p>“I’m glad you two came. I asked Wilbur for your numbers, and it looks like he didn’t give me fake ones this time.” </p><p>“Fake ones?” </p><p>George waved his hand in dismissal. “Old joke, doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“So why are we here?” Tommy gestured to the party around them. “Is there some sort of event we weren’t told about, is the January party usually this quiet and during the day?”</p><p>“No, no,” George shook his head. “These are some of the more wealthy people of Vegas, the bourgeoisie, if you will.” </p><p>“What’s a boosh-wassie?” Tubbo raised an eyebrow. </p><p>“It’s an economic class, Tubbo.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “French revolution, chopping off heads with a guillotine kind of thing.”</p><p>“Oh, okay.” </p><p>“<em> Anyway </em>,” George began again. “I have you two here because it’s my turn to teach.”</p><p>“What.” Tommy and Tubbo spoke in befuddled unison. </p><p>“Yeah, I cleared it with Wilbur and everything.” He gave them a grin and a wink. “How do you <em> think </em> I got to where I am?”</p><p>“I thought that you were a model or something and started working with Dream, and then you became the face of his parties and stuff.” Tubbo answered succinctly. </p><p>“Yes,” George tipped his head forward. “But I also make a lot of investments for Dream domestically that he can’t do himself.” </p><p>“Is that so?” Tommy’s eyebrows knit together. “Alright, show us.” </p><p>George grinned like a madman and beckoned them towards a table where two women and a man sat making conversation. He injected into the conversation fluidly, picking up on the lull like a fish on a line.</p><p>“Lewis, I hope you don’t mind me interrupting you, but I just had to make sure I reminded you about that show you <em> promised </em>to get me tickets to.”</p><p>“Oh, right, of course.” The man seemed a bit peeved, but not annoyed. He eyed Tommy and Tubbo on either side of George. “And who are these two?”</p><p>“Interns, I’ve been teaching them how to be the next hosts when I’m gone.” </p><p>“Gone?” One of the women raised her eyebrows. “But you’re so young and handsome! You’re retiring already?” </p><p>“You have to at some point, and I’m sure fresh faces like these will do well to guide in the next generation.” </p><p>At some point, they all took a seat at the table, and began making meaningless conversations about rich people things that bored him to death. </p><p>“I mean, what they did with this season’s production of La Bohme? <em> Marvelous </em>.”</p><p>“I’ve never had anything but fresh caviar, and only with my grandmother’s pearl spoon.”</p><p>“The lawns are never green enough out here for proper golf.” “Can you even have proper golf without playing in Scotland?” </p><p>Tommy wanted to break a glass and stab either one of them or himself by the end of it. The amount of gaudy rich people laughing they did was enough to make him want to not just drain the veins of the local bourgeoisie, as George had said it, but their bank accounts even more. At some point, Tommy could hear the ferocity with which Tubbo was shuffling his cards under the table, trying to stay focused despite the boredom he was currently enduring. </p><p>Eventually, George freed them from the conversation. “Right, see you two at the gala next weekend,” he then laughed, and all of them chuckled along with him. </p><p>As boring and useless as the conversation had been, Tommy had to give it to him, George was nothing if not charming. </p><p>“Well, we should go check in on Sapnap,” George stood from the table and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind, you know him.” </p><p>Together, they left the vicinity to a quiet corner of the back yard, and Tommy finally let out a snort. “Well, that was something.” He screwed up his face. “What was even the point of that? Nothing happened besides a bunch of fancy Vegas socialites talking all rich and shit.” </p><p>George shrugged. “I did just get into their bank accounts if that’s something.” </p><p>“What?” Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, what do you mean?”</p><p>“All of that stuff I was talking about? Key phrases needed in lots of security. When Lewis talked about playing golf in Scotland, I asked him where he grew up, if he grew up on a street a friend of mine did. When Amelia talked about her grandmother’s pearl spoon, I asked her about her grandmother, and her family, I learned their last names. I knew for a fact that Cara likes opera, and when I asked, it wasn’t a stretch to find out that her first pet is named after Mimi from the very opera she bragged about seeing.” </p><p>“Oh damn,” Tubbo said breathlessly. “You’re like a conversation ninja.” </p><p>“But that’s all coincidence,” Tommy shook his head. “There’s no way that you really got all of that from one conversation, you even said you knew Lewis previously.”</p><p>“I did, but I’d never spoken to the people around him before.” George turned his head to the side and sighed. “People like to talk about themselves. When you indulge them, they tell you everything you want to hear.” He gestured to the party. “All of these people are marks for me. But this is just practice. <em> The </em>parties are where it really counts.” </p><p>“And you just remember everything you’ve asked and answered?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not human.”</p><p>George tapped his ear. “Usually, I have someone on the line with me to help. A hacker that works for us, one of them, at least.” He stretched slightly, and looked over the crowd. “Well that’s all I really wanted to show you two for now. It’ll be easier if people were smashed. But this is more of a garden party than a rager. Feel free to hang around and mingle with people. Or watch me do my magic.” </p><p>“Absolutely,” Tubbo said, starry-eyed. </p><p>Tommy pushed his hands into his pockets, spotting Sapnap leaning against the barrier between the cliffside and the grassy area of the yard. “I’ll mingle, thanks.” </p><p>Tubbo trailed off after George, while Tommy grabbed himself a cup of what he hoped was water and some finger sandwiches, making his way across the lawn to where Sapnap stood. He leaned against the barrier a foot or so away, munching on a slice of sandwich. </p><p>“Nice party.”</p><p>“It’s George’s,” Sapanp grumbled. “And can’t you leave me alone?” He rubbed his face. “I come to these things to look after George, not to socialize.”</p><p>“Look after George?” Tommy questioned.</p><p>“Is George teaching you his stupid asking people questions thing?”</p><p>“It was a genuine question,” he responded. “But yeah, he is.” </p><p>“He’s so,” Sapnap swiveled his head. Tommy turned to see George and Tubbo talking with a younger couple standing off to the side. “Ugh, I don’t know.” </p><p>“So why are you looking after George?”</p><p>“It’s so stupid,” he grumbed. “Dream gets worried when George comes out here all alone, and of course, he doesn’t trust anyone else but me for the job.” Sapnap muttered the next bit, “I mean, if he wants George safe that bad, he can just do it himself.” </p><p>“Doesn’t seem like the type of guy to have time.” Tommy took a sip of water. Definitely wasn’t water. He drank it anyway. “Seems like kind of a dick.” </p><p>“He’s….he’s really not. At least, he didn’t used to be. I think it all just got to his head.” Sapnap gripped the edge of the barrier. “He uh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”</p><p>He paused, and then supplied, “sometimes it’s nice to have people to talk to.” </p><p>“Yeah.” He closed his eyes. “It would be nice for once.” </p><p>Tommy stabbed one of the sandwiches with a tiny metal fork that had been given to him. “So what exactly is your deal?”</p><p>“My deal?” Sapnap opened his eyes and looked towards Tommy.</p><p>“Like, I get you’re a contract hitman or whatever, but like, what else do you do. For Dream.” </p><p>“Uh, this, I guess.” He rolled his eyes as he turned around and leaned his back against the barrier. “Babysitting George. Sometimes I consult on arms deals, or unload a magazine into a paper dummy at the shooting range when the house is too quiet.” His gaze stayed tethered into the ground. “Back in the day, I’d get into fights with someone like every few hours. I’d get so goddamn scarred up. Used to knife fight too, god, that was fun.”</p><p>“Jesus. Violent.” </p><p>Sapnap looked up at him with a cocky expression. “What, have never been in a fight before?”</p><p>“Uh, of course I have,” Tommy straightened his back. “Back in England. Knocked a guy’s teeth out and broke his nose, basically curb stomped him.” </p><p>“So no?” </p><p>Tommy looked up from his plate of sandwiches and at Sapnap. “I’m a lover of women, Sapnap, not a fighter of men.” </p><p>Sapnap laughed, a sound that was deep and rough in his throat. “Yeah, no. Clearly.” He then lifted his head and asked a question Tommy had no way to anticipate. “Have you ever shot a gun before?” </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>He should’ve honestly expected that Sapnap would carry several firearms on him at once. As the guests left, and George had some of his staff clean up the yard, Sapnap lined the barrier wall with empty bottles and cans, and grabbed one of his hand guns from a table that they’d pulled over.</p><p>He lined up a shot and cocked the gun, pulling the trigger and nailing two bottles, shattering them and sending them over the cliffside. </p><p>“Don’t blow holes in the wall!” George shouted through cupped hands.</p><p>“I can pay for it,” Sapnap shouted back. He aimed up again and snickered, “could pay for a whole new house.” Another bottle shattered with a <em> ping! </em></p><p>Sapnap flicked safety on and handed it to Tommy. “Alright now, lift it up and aim at the target.” He stood next to him, grabbing another from the table. “Hold your arms like this, steady, right.” Sapnap kept his legs steady. “Be ready for recoil, they aren’t bad on puppies like these, but they still have a kick.” </p><p>“Okay. I’m ready.”</p><p>Sapnap moved his finger to the safety of his own gun and flicked it. “Like that. Then cock it, aim, and fire.” </p><p>Tommy took in a deep breath and let out a shot. It went nowhere near the bottles, flew clear over the top, but the rush was enough for him to let out an excited gasp. “Oh, that is, <em> exhilarating. </em>”</p><p>He let off another shot, this time, it whizzed by the bottle, a bit closer. </p><p>“OOH!” Sapnap shouted. “ALMOST!” </p><p>Tommy cocked the gun one last time, and aimed, this time hitting the wine bottle he was aiming for in the neck, sending it hurtling down into the chasm below. </p><p>The two of them started cheering at the shot, and Tommy turned around to see Tubbo standing behind him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you two shooting guns?” </p><p>“For fun?” Tommy grinned, holding the gun out.</p><p>“Safety!” Sapnap shouted, and Tommy flicked it on with a quick motion.</p><p>“Close one,” Tommy replied. </p><p>George slid the door open and stepped out, holding a tray of tea and cookies. “The caterers left us some treats behind, if you want to stop almost damaging my wall, please.” </p><p>The four of them sat around a small table on the porch as the evening grew colder, and the stars bloomed in the sky above. They played cards in the porchlight, using the deck Tubbo carried with him. </p><p>Sapnap taught them a game he’d apparently learned as a kid, one that Tubbo picked up almost immediately, and began beating all of them round after round. Eventually, Sapnap declared that the threat on George’s life was zero, and that he was going to head to his room, leaving the three of them alone.</p><p>“Strange guy,” George said as he set down a king of hearts. Tubbo swore under his breath.</p><p>Tommy nodded, “yeah he said a lot of stuff about the old days when we were talking.” </p><p>Tubbo put down an ace, and Tommy grumbled as Tubbo pulled in the pot of cards. “Like what?”</p><p>“Mostly about how he had to babysit you, and couldn’t understand why Dream wouldn’t just do it himself.” </p><p>“Dream worries,” George responded. “Too much sometimes, in my opinion.” He sighed, “around too little to be worried so much.” </p><p>Tommy raised an eyebrow, and phrased his words carefully. “Where is he right now, anyways?”</p><p>George rolled his eyes as he set down a four of clubs in the pile. “I don’t even know, some foreign country. Dealing with some competitor.”</p><p>Tubbo aided him for once, chiming in with an innocent; “what kind of competitor?” </p><p>“Some guy,” George waved a hand. “Keeps poaching his marks, and he can’t figure out why.” </p><p>“Huh, weird.” Tommy replied. “You don’t know who?”</p><p>“Even Dream doesn’t,” he replied with the drop of three nines, “if he did, the guy probably wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” </p><p>Tubbo grinned, and placed down a five run on top, securing the game for himself. </p><p>“I swear to god, you cheat,” George scoffed. “Ugh,” he put his hands over his face. “We’ve got that meeting tomorrow, right?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tommy put down his discarded cards. “You going?”</p><p>“I have to,” he pulled them back and folded them on the table. “Everyone does. And I mean everyone. This is the yearly.”</p><p>“Yearly?” Tubbo raised an eyebrow as he pulled in the pool of cards, realizing that the game was pretty much over. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s when everyone in the organization flies out from across the world, and gets the marching orders for the year.” George opened his eyes and sighed. “It’s a big deal.”</p><p>“Wilbur never said anything about it being <em> that </em> big of a deal.” </p><p>“Well that’s cause your local, you come to all of the meetings.” He gestured with his hand to no one. “Same as Sapnap, same as me, same as Wilbur, same as Bad and Skeppy. You’re a local now. A public local, that is. Anyway…” George stood and stretched. “I need some sleep. You two are fine with the guest accommodations, right?” </p><p>“Yeah, they’ll be fine,” Tommy nodded. </p><p>Tubbo and Tommy were left alone outside, the only sounds of the wind and Tubbo softly shuffling cards. </p><p>“I like George,” Tubbo said finally. “I think he’s pretty cool.” </p><p>“Yeah, he seems so.” Tommy yawned, letting it take over his face. “Sapnap’s the same,” he said sleepily. “A good’un.”</p><p>“Sleep?” Tubbo barely had to ask.</p><p>“Sleep.” Tommy replied assuredly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i am very tired and i barely edited this, but i wanted to get it out sooner than later :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Early in the morning after their stay at the house in the mountains, Tommy and Tubbo headed home in the Hawkeye. They took a few hours to prepare for the meeting before they left for the Vegas mansion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was busier than Tommy had ever seen it previously, with cars driven and parked in neat lines on the driveway, and people in nice clothing getting out and heading towards the front door. At the entrance, Wilbur leaned against a pillar, checking his phone as he waited for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of people,” Tubbo murmured. “How many do you reckon will be there in total?” His voice went softer. “Do you recognize any of them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, and then to the sides as he fiddled with his keys, both of them taking a moment to catch their breath in the car. “Not any of them so far. I’m sure Wilbur can give us introductions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They approached the house, walking behind an incredibly tall man, and another one about a head shorter. Tommy couldn’t catch much of their conversation, but it seemed to mostly be computer jargon anyway, not much he could easily make out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Wilbur,” he greeted the man as they both approached. Wilbur looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh good you’re here,” he clicked his phone on. “And early even.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I supposed that I wouldn’t want to be late to this sort of thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded. “You guessed correct.” He turned away from the pillar, and the three of them walked through the open door. One of the mansion’s staff members offered to take their coats, Wilbur and Tubbo gave theirs, and Tommy reluctantly handed his over as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room had been opened up, apparently the walls could be moved and shifted, and it was decorated with strings of lights and lanterns hanging from the ceiling. It was clearly George’s work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all seemed too sweet for whatever sinister things might be spoken about during the meeting. “Keep your heads down unless I tell you not to,” Wilbur said softly as the three fell together in a line. “And stick close to me. I’ll introduce you to people, not the other way around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sorts of people are here?” Tubbo’s voice was quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People with enough power and knowledge to work for Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen island had been covered in platters of food and other snacks, and a bar with a bartender behind it was serving drinks to those mingling around. Tommy noted different faces in the crowd of people he’d met before, Bad and Skeppy stood talking with the two people they’d been walking behind on their way in, Sapnap stood with another person Tommy didn’t know, a scruffy looking guy who didn’t look much older than him, the rest of the room was made up of mostly strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur moved to the island, picking up what had to be a handmade glass plate and taking a small bit of everything. Tommy did the same, but watching Wilbur, noted that he wasn’t looking at what he was taking, but instead surveying those who’d arrived. His eyes flicked to Tubbo, who hadn’t seemed to notice Wilbur’s behavior, but was instead whispering to Tommy about all of the different food options on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led them over to a corner of the room, “stay here,” he instructed, before handing Tommy his plate and disappearing into the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy waited a few moments until he was sure Wilbur was out of sight before handing Tubbo both of the plates. “Yeah, no I don’t want to stand around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy-” Tubbo protested, but he’d already begun heading towards Sapnap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he greeted with a grin. “Good to see you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, hey Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at the guy who Sapnap had been speaking to. He was a bit shorter than Tommy, with fluffy brown hair and a confused, but amused expression. “Sapnap taught me how to shoot a gun yesterday.” Tommy held out his hand, “and I’m Tommy by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Karl,” the man responded with a grin. “Nice to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you normally like interrupting conversations to introduce yourself?” Sapnap raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the best way to do it,” Tommy replied. “Snaps up your attention.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it definitely caught mine!” Karl chuckled. “Are you one of the new hires?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, been working with Wilbur, and my friend Tubbo.” Tommy looked over his shoulder to where Tubbo was staring dagger at him, juggling three plates. “He didn’t want to mingle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like he was following instructions,” Wilbur’s voice came from over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur!” Tommy turned slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to stay put, and not bother anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me to, quote, ‘stay here’, which I obviously construed to mean stay in his room, not in that place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine,” Karl responded. “I like meeting the new people involved with Dream.” He snorted softly. “The people involved with the Mayor’s cabinet compared to his circle of people are surprisingly similar, while also being really different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “Vegas has a Mayor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. It does.” Wilbur said through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really thought that all the government we had was the casino board, honestly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot more than that, trust me,” Karl replied. “I’d know, I’m the Mayor’s assistant. I come to some of these meetings when he can’t attend them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream is a major supporter of Mayor Beast’s campaign. It’s why we can afford to work so openly. Behind the scenes, his team can fix our mistakes.” Wilbur narrowed his eyes slightly. “Did I hear you say something about a gun?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Tommy can stop him, Sapnap speaks. “Uh, yeah, Tommy and Tubbo came out the the place in the mountains for one of George’s get togethers, I was there as security. I taught Tommy how to shoot after the party ended.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned quickly to face Tommy. “George invited you out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah,” Tommy raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew in a breath as Sapnap and Karl began giving the both of them odd looks. “I didn’t know I needed to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur seemed to notice the tension as well, and turned, waving Tubbo over. “It doesn’t matter. There’s too much to think about.” He lifted his chin slightly and looked to Sapnap. “Do you know anything Dream might have planned for the coming year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap shrugged, “nothing I can say until he announces stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much?” Wilbur rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap grinned, “you still got an in at the club downtown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greenlight?” He snorted, “yeah, sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo handed Tommy his plate with a grumble under his breath. “How mad is Wilbur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, not as mad as I’d imagined he’d be.” He leaned in towards Tubbo as Wilbur was distracted with Sapnap. “And he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t have much bite anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-he mentioned something about Carmen.” Tommy tuned back into the conversation as Sapnap spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Wilbur looked taken aback. “He’s not really going to go in on his knees begging, is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently he wants the supply lines hooked back up by the end of January.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s no time at all to fix-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants it done,” Sapnap cut Wilbur off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants what done?” Tommy interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur answered before Sapnap had a chance. “It’s nothing,” his eyes flicked to Sapnap’s face. “Nothing that would affect you directly. More of a big job.” Wilbur looked jittery now, even more than before. “Anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap sighed, “uh, same routine as always, fixing our territory finally, and um, I think he said he wants to open a casino, he’s been talking with Skeppy.” He raised an eyebrow, “that good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful. Thank you Sapnap.” The words were more forced than kind. “Tommy, Tubbo, let’s go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them trailed after Wilbur, both shooting one another looks of confusion. Wilbur returned them to the corner. “I wanted you two to stay here to keep from messing up relationships with potential allies. All of Dream’s organization is here tonight, and you need to realize that you don’t just need Dream’s approval, but his cabinet’s too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured with a flick of his eyes to Karl, who had returned to chatting with Sapnap with a bright smile. “Karl is a powerful link to the Mayor, if he were to report that our new prospects display your sort of behavior, we could lose that relationship.” Wilbur stood to his full height and smoothed back his hair. “We’re lucky that the Mayor is normally too busy to attend, and that Sapnap works well to charm Karl into a good report.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the clinging of a glass, and Tommy looked to see George standing at the end of a long hall, wearing a pair of cream and brown patterned pants, a bright orange shirt, and a long muted green overcoat checkered with faded orange. He held up a glass in one hand and a spoon in the other, a slight smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The meeting’s about to begin, if everyone would please file into the auditorium.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt Wilbur’s hand on his back as he began pushing the two of them towards the entrance. “Let’s get this over with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, my food-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they entered, Tommy didn’t miss the slight narrowing of George’s eyes as he presumed Wilbur shot the man a dirty look, hands still clamped on both Tommy and Tubbo’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The auditorium was surprisingly big, bigger than one of the lecture rooms in Tommy’s high school, with several rows for seating down towards a small stage. Wilbur sat them down in the second last row, situating himself in between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sorry Wilbur,” Tubbo said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s arms were crossed against his chest. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For Tommy,” Tubbo leaned forward to shoot him a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lifted his eyebrows, “what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur let out a long, drawn out sigh, sliding down into his seat. “It’s not really you two. Every year I dread this meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve just told us that,” Tubbo replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy nodded. Tubbo flicked his eyes to Tommy again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every year, my projects are the ones unfinished and tabled, it’s part of why I started working with new people now, can’t get called out about it when I’m working it now.” He sucked in a breath. “And if it goes wrong anyway, I can always blame you two for being incompetant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Tommy retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d believe that,” Tubbo said at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So who </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> all of these people?” Tommy leaned back in his seat to sit at the same level as Wilbur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mostly people abroad, contacts. They’re all required to come to this meeting, though. All over the world they come.” He lifted a finger and pointed at a man in a face mask, “that guy, they call him Ponk, one of Dream’s oldest contacts, deals in lots of lawyer type stuff.” Wilbur looked around and settled on the two people walking in with Bad and Skeppy. “You know those two, but the others with them are Anthony, people mostly call him Ant, and Sam, they’re hackers, work to keep our underground networks up, keep everything secure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sat up slowly, “speaking of which…” he looked around before stopping. “There’s Fundy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked down at the man he was pointing to, a guy with fuzzy brown hair and stubble, and a long, wide-eyed face. He wore a faded orange shirt with a black zip-up with stripes over the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy, Fundy, he assumed, was talking with George, who appeared uninterested in what he was saying. Wilbur stood, waving briefly before catching his attention, Fundy’s eyes lit up, and he said something to Wilbur before climbing up the stairs to the row they were sitting in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Wilbur!” Fundy exclaimed as he hurried up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that, Fundy,” he said, teasing. Wilbur smiled with an uncharacteristic warmth. “Good to see you, dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two gave one another an only somewhat awkward side hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is it always here that we see one another.” He clapped Wilbur on the shoulder, “you need to come out and visit!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how busy I am,” Wilbur let out a sigh. He used one hand to shoo Tommy into the seat next to Tubbo, before taking Tommy’s seat, and letting Fundy take the one next to him. “And the Netherlands of all places, I’d never want to come home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Fundy chuckled, “that’s the plan.” He leaned over to take a look at Tommy and Tubbo. “Who are these two?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, they’re the new prospects, I’m training them to be assets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really?” Fundy raised his eyebrows. “So Dream-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not going through with it-” Wilbur said quickly. “It was a bluff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy furrowed his eyebrows in worry. “You do need to be more careful, Wil.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was about to open his mouth to interrupt, before Tubbo kicked him in the ankle, lips pressed together as he shook his head. He watched as Tubbo moved and tugged the bottom of his ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen, remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes but complied, listening into Wilbur and Fundy’s conversation, but watching the people below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it’s not like going through </span>
  <em>
    <span>George </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going to get you in contact with him.” Wilbur said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that if I made my intentions more clear then it’d make sense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s-” Wilbur sighed softly, “You know about him and, y’know, do you see how they are with each other?” George began to take the stage, and Wilbur turned to face it. “I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, but I doubt it’d ever work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo and Tommy looked at one another, Tubbo mouthing ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck did that mean?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tommy shrugged, and turned to the stage, where George had gone to stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome everyone from across the country, and the world, to the annual budget and perspective meeting. I’m sure you all know why you’re here, and what you might expect from today.” George lifted his wrist to check his watch. “Dream should be on soon to give marching orders. Unfortunately, he had to run to a last minute conference out of the country, so he won’t be here in person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Tommy could barely hear Fundy say under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A projection behind him flickered to life, and the image of Dream, mask and all, appeared on screen. “Hello,” he addressed the room. “Good to see everyone.” Dream turned his head slightly. “Well, the lighting makes it hard to see, but I’m guessing you’re all here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sitting against a blank, neutral wall, the light in the room making it impossible to tell if it was night or day where he was, and his sound was crisp, no telling if he was in a hotel room, or in the middle of nowhere. For the first hour or so, Dream flipped through papers and addressed different members in the room, often talking in what Tommy assumed was code, or possibly just technical speak so niche, he’d never get what it meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was towards the end of the meeting, when Tommy watched the pile of papers in Dream’s hands dwindle, that he said something that Tommy both remembered from earlier, and appeared to peak Wilbur’s interest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you all know, sometime last year, we dropped our Ta-To contract with a valuable asset on intel and guidance that ended up being false.” Tommy watched as Wilbur shrunk a little in his seat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That must’ve been what had happened</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “For recontact, I’m advising to send three people over to extend an olive branch. I’d like to send the new recruits, Tommy and Tubbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of his name, Tommy perked up, along with Tubbo, who’d been fiddling with his cards out of boredom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you two are new, our supplier will be more likely to trust you, he’ll think he can sway you into his favor, rather than mine.” Dream flipped through his papers. “I’ll also be sending along Eret-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Wilbur’s voice was audibly loud throughout the mostly quiet auditorium, which had been filled with the sounds of keyboard clicks and pen scratches and the occasional question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Dream lifted his head from the paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’m just confused,” he spoke quickly. “I’m their mentor, shouldn’t I take them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m remembering correctly, you’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.” Dream’s voice grew an edge to it. “I’d rather not extend an olive branch through the hand of someone who burned the last one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eret knows him, you two used to be friends, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret was sitting in the first row, and seemed a bit confused. “Yes, I do know him, but it’s been a long time-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. Better than sending the one who broke the contract in the first place.” Dream flipped the page. “The file will be sent over to you, you’ll be expected to meet with the contact and return with information and the beginnings of a deal.” The man lifted his head, the two black eyes of his mask seeming to be perfectly trained on Wilbur. “Hopefully you can handle giving them a plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes…” Wilbur faltered. “Yes sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the meeting went off well, albeit boring, with everything Sapnap had mentioned being spoken about at some point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A massive folder was dropped into Tommy’s hands as he, Tubbo, and Wilbur were beginning to leave. Eret stopped them at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll need to go soon,” he warned. “I know that the growing season starts soon, and we’ll want to get on his good side as quickly as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just who is this guy?” Tommy asked, confused and a bit tired. “Why is he even so important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They call him, uh.” Eret paused. “They call him Technoblade, and he’s the biggest supplier of the most popular club drug in all of Vegas.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Carmen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tubbo and Tommy picked Eret up from his hotel in the morning after the meeting, when Vegas was still teaming with people stumbling home from all night benders, and casino employees clocking out of their graveyard shift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive up to Carmen was relatively quiet, only about a two hour trip, punctuated by conversation between Eret and Tubbo, and occasionally a question from Tommy, but he hadn’t been able to get much out of Eret about this “Technoblade” at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had never heard of him before, which meant, either he was an incredibly powerful shadow working in the desert, or a nobody that he wouldn’t have to care about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this guy, who exactly is he again?” Tommy had asked it when they’d settled in enough that it wasn’t weird to barrage them with questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, he sells the highest quality Ta-To in the area, and Dream used to work with him a while back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know him </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy’s eyes flicked to Eret’s in the rearview window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret tipped their head to the side and sighed. “It’s a bit complicated…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, how?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret waved their hand dismissively. “Old stuff, back from before Dream got big. Underground stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded along, but it was clear that Eret wasn’t going to say much more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo and Eret talked about life in Vegas and Eret’s time as an actor, and Tommy went through all of the research he’d done in a panic the night before. It was the same as Wilbur, no mention of a man called ‘Technoblade’. With a name as strange as that, you’d almost expect to hear something, but there was nothing more than a synth DJ listing and some vague mentions of nightclubs and artists with similar names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farther out into the desert you got, the more lonely it was. As they headed out into the more mountainous areas where it wasn’t as much desert, t got a little more lush in places, but it was still mostly dusty, with the occasional patch of prairie grown wild. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small town of Carmen was like any other small American town, there was a bar and a poorly defined main street, and off the beaten path, the entrance to a farm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy drove past the entrance gate, where a sign had written on it: </span>
  <em>
    <span>ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried not to worry too much about that. Eret and Tubbo looked nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drove past fields of short crops growing low to the ground in neat lines, and could see massive warehouses lined up against the windbreak treeline, and tractors and smaller farm vehicles moving between the plants. Tommy spotted a farmhouse out at the end of the trail, where there was a single car parked out front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been here before, right Eret?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no actually,” Eret replied. “But let me do the talking. He knows me.” They didn’t sound confident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy parked the car outside the house, and the three of them stepped out onto the packed dirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be glad to stretch if I wasn’t terrified for my life,” Tubbo said quietly as Tommy rounded the front of the Hawkeye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure the sign wasn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the farmhouse opened, and a man with a gun stepped out. “Alright, what the hell are you city folk doing out here?” He steadied his aim. “You law enforcement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo and Eret’s hands went up, but Tommy tried to remain cool. He’d had guns in his face before. This was no big deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The opposite, actually.” Tommy replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re with Dream-” Eret’s spoke quickly. “I’m here to see Techno, if you need confirmation, I’m Eret. He’ll know who that is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun lowered slightly, and the man leaned into the walkie-talkie Tommy only now noticed sat at his shoulder. “Hey, T, some Eret guy is here? Says he knows you.” The man paused for a moment. “Yep. Alright.” He slung the rifle over his shoulder and sighed. “He’s in the west field, just around the back of the house. You’ll see him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Eret gave him a nod and lowered his hands. He strode forward, shooting Tommy a look. “I told you to let me do the talking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Tommy scoffed, not really remorseful at all. “He had a gun, and you two were being pussies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo snorted, and Eret grumbled something Tommy couldn’t hear, but they all walked together across the strip of patchy dirt next to the lines of plants. In the distance, Tommy could see a man standing in the field, he held a few tools in his hands, which he pushed into the pockets of his jeans as they approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was muscular, with greyish brown hair streaked with white pulled up behind his head in a ponytail, and a stained t-shirt. A pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he looked down towards the three approaching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could see the man’s shoulders sink as he got a good look at them, and pushed the pencil in his hand behind his ear. As they drew close, Tommy opened his mouth in greeting, only for the man to put his hand up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He addressed Eret only, his voice gruff, and his sunken eyes flicking between each of them. “I’m surprised to see you. And with two children, for some reason.” His words weren’t angry, but more confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Techno.” Eret’s voice was warm, but shaky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here from Dream.” Tommy interrupted, smoothing over his voice with the slick smile that normally won over everyone. “He wants you to renegotiate your Ta-To contract.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno let out a sigh and lifted his head to look back up at Eret. “So that’s why </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.” The words were more quick now, almost disappointed. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why does Dream have kids on his payroll.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not kids, actually,” Tubbo said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, 19,” Tommy pointed to himself. “20,” he said, gesturing to Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno let out a huff. “I don’t really care.” He moved past them, but made a motion with his hand for them to follow. “Why exactly does Dream want to renegotiate now? He was sort of direct when he dropped me the first time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Tommy paused. That he wasn’t actually sure of, but Eret picked up for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He says that he was...wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno stopped fully, and turned around. “HAH.” He snorted loudly. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. Eret, are you working for Squid now? Did you change sides?” Techno let out a sigh. “I’d be disappointed if you ever actually came to visit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really,” Tubbo spoke up. “Dream personally sent the two of us along with Eret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he said he was wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-” Eret began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy answered for him. “He said that the guy who advised him was wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno nodded, “now that sounds like Dream.” He led them forward, towards a large metal barn. Techno hefted open a massive door like it was nothing, and Tommy blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark interior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room smelled earthy and acidic, like rot and something fermented. There were massive cloth bins stacked up against the wall in cubes, where something was piled inside. Lined against the walls and in rows were massive cylindrical machines affixed with different gages and gears on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you making in here?” Tommy asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream really picks the smart ones,” Techno muttered. “The beginnings of Ta-To. Or well,” he began across the room to a small blocked off area in the corner. He put up quotations with his fingers. “Vodka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you expect me to know about anything I just got told about yesterday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno stopped in front of the door, looking at him confused. “You work for Dream and you don’t know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ta-To</span>
  </em>
  <span> is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I know it’s a drug.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno turned the knob of a door on the wall, and they found themselves at the top of a stairwell. “Ta-To is one of the most potent drugs to come out in recent years. People discovered it after finding that there’s a strain in potatoes that, when rotted properly, can create hallucinogenic effects.” His voice echoed as they headed down the stairwell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you grow potatoes here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And make Ta-To. Upstairs is just for if someone comes snooping around here.” They turned the corner and headed down another set of stairs further down into the earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hallucinogens in potatoes,” Tubbo laughed nervously, “what has the world come to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the stairwell were two steel doors, one with a complex set of access pads and key card areas on the side, and the other a simple lock and key. Techno pulled a silver key from his pocket and opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s in the other?” Tommy pointed to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Production,” Techno replied without looking up. We can’t go in there without proper gear, and it takes way too long to get on anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed the door open, and they entered into a small, stuffy room that was covered wall to wall in paper. To the side was a small desk with a computer sat on top, and some shelves with small notebooks stacked up neatly. The rest looked like someone had thrown paper in the air and then attempted to stick it to the wall with a stapler in random places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them stood uncomfortably shoulder to shoulder as Techno pulled a black notebook from his pocket and put it in line of the shelves with the others. He then took a seat in his chair, letting out an audible grumble as he settled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Dream wants to make a deal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, he does,” Tommy nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does understand that it’s going to take a lot to get me to work with him again.” He folded his fingers together. “Even with all the money I’d make through him, it’s still not enough to justify him dropping my people in the first place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you want us to do?” Eret spoke before Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve mentioned him already, but I know that these two have no idea what he’s done or who he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want us to mess with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want Dream to end him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret seemed taken aback. “He’s just as big as you are, in terms of power and money-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t as big as Dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We both know that I would know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would,” he replied quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not even willing to consider a new contract until you can deliver me his head on a platter.” Techno held up a hand. “And I mean metaphorically, not literally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m confused, what’s happening?” Tommy blurted out. “Who is this guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They call him Squid,” Techno looked up to address him. “He’s my main competitor, and we’ve had a sort of unspoken war over Ta-To since I started making and supplying. Squid’s an old money Ta-To guy, he’s been in this much long then I have. Alone, I revolutionized the way we make it here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not only powerful, but he has enough money that he can throw it at any problem and make it go away.” Tommy noticed how Eret clenched his fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then he sounds like exactly the kind of guy we go after.” Tubbo had folded his arms against his chest. He turned to look at Tommy, “right? Think of all of the casino marks we had. Rich, full of themselves, always thinking they have the upper hand. We can totally play this guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we’re gonna have to ask Wilbur for help, because this guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds like they type he’d have contact with. Ugh, that’ll be annoying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One last thing,” Techno sat back in his chair. “I want Dream himself to renegotiate fully.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Tommy drew out the word. “That might be difficult. He’s barely around anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have him come here himself, with assurance of Squid’s demise, or no deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll make it work,” Eret said quickly. “I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno seemed to deflate a little. “Like you promised last time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret paused for a moment. “I mean it this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do.” Techno looked away, towards the wall of papers. It was the first time Tommy got a good look at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed the name “Squid” appeared on a lot of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got work to do,” he grumbled as he turned his chair. Tommy watched as he reached for a notebook. “You know how to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be seeing you,” Eret said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno said nothing in return, and Eret pushed the door open, slipping through it and into the hallway. Tubbo was quick to follow, but Tommy lingered for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do I need to know about Squid?” He said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask Wilbur,” Techno replied. He said the name like he knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is the most important thing to know about him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno paused for a moment, as if waiting for him to give up and leave, but Tommy persisted. “He’s cocky.” The man sighed. “He’ll make gambles if he believes that he has the upper hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Tommy pushed the door open, taking a look behind him before he went. Techno hunched over the book, typing in information into a spreadsheet, paying the world no mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could never imagine being that obsessed, but he could understand it. As he caught up with Tubbo and Eret, his mind had flipped over into planning mode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel his skin tingling and his heart beginning to pound. There was so much to do, so much to learn, so much to plan. Tommy barely remembered the ride home, thinking through every scheme he’d ever learned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This would be a big one. Big enough to get Wilbur off his back all the time, and more importantly, big enough to impress Dream.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A Gala</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi yes I know it's been a month :) </p><p>here's an update :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur closed his eyes as he stood in front of that dreaded door, the massive one with ornate carvings and the sharp words behind it. Part of him hoped that it would be empty, and that there’d be a tablet on the table, and he’d have the conversation through a screen, but some part of him knew he wouldn’t be that lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked, twice, and heard some muffled noise that he hoped meant for him to come inside. Wilbur pulled the door open, the light from outside illuminating the dim interior for a moment, enough to see the stoic figure sat in a chair across from where he stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Dream paused for a moment. “On time, what a surprise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here to report about Techno right?” Dream drew in a breath. “It should be the two fresh faces, not you whose here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think with how delicate the situation is, it’s best that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who tells you about what took place at the farm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause, and a sigh. “He didn’t kill one of them, did he? I’d forgive him if he did, especially Tommy...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur waited for Dream to finish up the thought, but it trailed off, as if he’d expected Wilbur to interrupt. “No, he’s made some...demands though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Dream straightened his back, settling into the chair as he folded his hands in his lap. “I’m assuming something crazy, especially after your decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a bad source,” Wilbur muttered. Dream groaned, but allowed Wilbur to continue about Techno’s request. “He wants us to take care of Squid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream didn’t reply for a moment, but when he did, he sounded surprised. “Squid.” He turned his face away from Wilbur, “it’ll be an interesting gamble. If he wants Squid down and not me at his feet liking the dirt and spud grease of his boots, he has some sort of angle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Wilbur cringed. “There’s another thing. He wants you to personally renegotiate his contract...after we get rid of Squid as competition.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another silence permeated the room. “Fine. We need him more than I care about wasting resources.” Dream turned his head back to Wilbur. “How do you think we should go about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised his eyebrows, “you want my expertise?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d ask George, but he’s been busy, and you’re here already, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squid isn’t as stupid as Techno always made him out to be,” Wilbur began slowly. “There’s no doubt that he expects attacks from Techno, and has hired people accordingly to do the work for him. He’ll also recognize people from our operation, we’ve done deals in the past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think your new protege will do the trick, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, exactly.” Wilbur nodded, not really surprised that Dream had gotten to the point that quickly.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lofty Investor, I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You took the words right out of my mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream placed a hand over his mask, rubbing a finger over the mouth as if he were thinking. “Take Tommy, but teach the other, Tubbo, the back ropes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dismissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur gave a small nod, turning to leave before he heard the shifting of Dream standing from the chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Wilbur?” He turned around to see Dream looking down at him from across the room. The gaze of his mask was piercing, not like a hawk, but like an owl, cold, calculating. “If you manage to secure this, consider our tensions...repaired. For now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream turned away without another word, and Wilbur had the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach that this wasn’t going to go the way he wanted. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy stood at the entrance to a massive gala hall, one of the biggest he’d ever seen, fiddling with his tie. He’d never been able to get into Calypso’s Palace, no matter how hard he’d tried in his early days of grifting, but now, the ticket Wilbur had gotten for him was like a golden pass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you there, Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice came through the headphone in his ear. “How’s everything looking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a room full of rich people,” he replied with a snort. “The usual. Is Wilbur there with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s just getting some things squared away on a video call with someone, but we’ll be in your ear the entire time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like I’ll really need it,” Tommy looked down at the line where the ruby red carpet ended, and the tile floor began, expensive smooth marble like smooth ice on a frozen lake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tubbo replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy drew in a deep breath, and took a step forward, the shiny red shoes Wilbur had lent him barely hanging on his feet despite the paper shoved into the toes to make sure they fit. There were men in suits and ties, women in dresses, it was more normal than anything, and yet he still felt out of place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made a soft beeline for a waiter with champagne as he heard Wilbur say, “are his glasses fully online?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Wilbur, hey, you’re here, finally, took you long enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I had to confer with Dream’s side of things before I pushed you directly into incoming traffic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo spoke up. “That kind of does feel like what we’re doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the only way to describe it,” Wilbur said, with no trace of humor in his voice to make Tommy feel any better about what he was about to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s the play?” Tubbo asked, “hanging out around with people listening in until you can find him? Making conversation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The goal of this is for as few people as possible to recognize Tommy after this,” Wilbur replied. “We want him to be remembered by Squid and Squid alone, because after he’s gone, Tommy can do this play again if he wants. You remember what we talked about Tommy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, my name is Blake Carm, I work for one of the party circuits, and I can hook him up to it easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, now don’t go off script, don’t show boat, and don’t do anything to reveal your real identity, got it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy rolled his eyes, downing the champagne in a single gulp. He started coughing almost immediately, wiping his mouth as he replied with a shaky, “got it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Tubbo said at the same moment Wilbur grumbled, “dear god this doesn’t bear well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy set the champagne glass down. He straightened his back and turned towards the mingling party-goers. “I’m fine, it’s fine. This is going to be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, stay towards the back, Squid will probably arrive sometime soon, based on what I was told by some of his minders, he’ll be here in the next half an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to keep a low profile for the next </span>
  <em>
    <span>half hour</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy complained, “and I can’t even talk to anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Low. Profile.” Wilbur reiterated. “I’ve been feeding his people different sources about the young entrepreneur and down low fixer who's been making it big by trying to set up a vast network of illegal substances for the clubs and dealers he’s put into his pocket basically. All you need to do is tell someone specific that you’re Blake Carm, and they’ll do the job for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, who?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look to your right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To my right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Other right Tommy,” Tubbo corrected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Other right,” Tommy swung to his other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur paused for a moment before speaking, “there, you see the guy in the suit with the grey hair and glasses?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of these people have suits, grey hair and glasses, Wilbur.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one with the patchy facial hair and his hands in his pockets?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I see him now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Kerry Panchel, to most people, he’s a somewhat known lobbyist at the capitol, but people on our side would know that he’s one of Squid’s whistleblowers, and knows everything about everyone. He knows you’re here tonight, but he doesn’t know what you look like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t just go up to him and tell him,” Wilbur exclaimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy shook his head, “what do you think I am, and idiot? I’ve got this Wilbur.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stuck to the sides of the wall, his gaze turning to look for Panchel where he could out of the corner of his eye. He watched who interacted with him, mostly passersby, but there was one woman in particular who hung around. Tommy noticed how Panchel would lean to her after speaking with someone, and she would take notes in a small book. A secretary, maybe. That was an in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began formulating what he’d say, the pointers he might use to get the name in, until he saw Panchel lean over to her, before she began heading towards the bar at the end of the room. It was like the universe was smiling down on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy made it there before her, ordering something light for himself. She arrived just a few beats after him, and as he pretended to fidget at the counter, he caught her eye, giving her a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty nice party, hmm?” He started, flicking his eyes between her and the back of the bar. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she nodded, excitedly, but politely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t know anyone here, it’s sort of daunting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman bit the inside of her cheek and nodded as she spoke. “I don’t really either, I’m here with my boss actually, helping him with clients and the sort.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Tommy looked back towards the crowd. “One of these bigshots out here?” He knew a few faces in the crowd, occupational hazard, along with Wilbur continually drilling them into his head beforehand. “Leo Havern, Jess Taylor, Kerry Panchel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s actually my boss,” she said with exclamation. “I’m here with him tonight for some marketing stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tommy raised his eyebrows, mocking surprise. The bartender cleared his throat and handed him his drink, which Tommy took with a quiet thank you.  “It’s the dream to be like them one day, hmm?” He acted absentminded. “Have your name spoken by everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at him as she took her ordered drinks from the bartender. “Are you playing at becoming the next Panchel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can only hope,” he laughed in a practiced way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she shifted the things in her hands. “Maybe I can take your name, put you in with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, that would be great.” He paused for a moment. “I’m Blake Carm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman froze, before looking up at him with wide eyes. “Carm?” She repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, nice name,” she fumbled. “Not common.” Her eyes flicked between her boss and Tommy. She’d been told beforehand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>geez, Wilbur was good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I’ll remember it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her go, his face twisting in a well faked confusion. Tommy waited a beat for her to scurry off to her boss, before whispering in his ear. He turned away, sipping his drink before, as dramatically as possible, turning his head towards where they stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at them long enough to see Panchel’s eyebrows raise, before turning away again. “Bait’s set,” he announced softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smooth as always,” Tubbo chuckled with some pride in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give it to you,” Wilbur snorted. “That was something, alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long after that Squid arrived, and it wasn’t hard at all to pick him out from the crowd. Not just because the room had that hush of importance, quickly followed by the roar of people talking about it in hushed voices, but the massive barrage of security and men in suits that were more expensive than those he’d seen so far. The man himself smiled with a cocky brilliance. He was a short man with slicked back brown hair, wearing a pair of white slacks, a shirt striped with thin lines of blue, and a rich indigo blazer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t move far from where he stood, but weaved a path through gawking party-goers pretending they weren’t staring. He made his way nearer to the back of the room, up on a partially elevator platform, probably meant for a live band, where he could get a better look. As Squid headed up the stairs, pausing at the entrance, people flocked to him, occasionally breaking away from the small circle of distance people gave him to ask a question or to give him a drink, a hello, or a stiff handshake. Tommy watched with intrigue as the man leaned to one of the bodyguards next to him, said something, and less than a minute later, a drink was handed to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was struck at how different this man was from Techno, who’d been out in the field half covered in dirt, compared to this man, who looked like a speck of dirt on him might cause a panic throughout his whole entourage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems like a prick,” he said softly. “Nothing like Techno.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squid’s old money,” Wilbur replied. “Grew up in the business, grew up in that life, whereas Techno did it, more or less because he wanted to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t be long now,” he said as he watched Panchal begin to approach Squid. “I’ll have to go quiet soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stepped down from the platform, heading back over to where he’d been standing before. He stared off into the distance, towards the entrance to the gala hall, above the heads of the entourage. Two men broke off from the pack, heading in his direction. He lifted his head to greet them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, can I help you?” Tommy asked as they neared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re Blake Carm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taller one of the two paused. “Our boss, Mr. Keed, would like to speak with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked past them, and at how the crowd had parted, letting him see straight across the room to where Squid stood. The man gave a brief wave, lifting his hand in greeting as pressed his lips together in a thin smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, of course.” He began towards him, as if, out of complete surprise. Tommy caught the eye of both the young woman and Panchal on the way, giving her a wink and grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Carm.” The man had a higher voice, slightly nasal, but it still held a power to it. “I’ve heard a lot about you these past few weeks. When I heard you’d be attending, I had to make an appearance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see I’ve caught the eye of someone line you Mr. Keed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” the man gestured with his hand up a set of stairs to the side. “Call me Squid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squid it is,” Tommy repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squid led him up the stairs, down a hall, and into a quiet office. He flicked on a light, and accompanied by two guards, he took a seat in a desk chair, gesturing for Tommy to take the one across from him. The man leaned to whisper something to the guard, before looking to Tommy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything to drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water will be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squid waved one of the guards away and looked back to Tommy. “So, Mr. Carm, where are you from?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, originally,” the man laughed lightly. “Your accent tipped me off of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Manchester, originally.” He straighted up in the chair. “Moved here a few years ago for work, got laid off, started working at a club around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Romeo’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On fifth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, “the very same. I saw how the drug trade around here worked, and realized that if I could unite dealers and druggies from across the area, not only could I profit, but they could all too, along with some special protections.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Squid nodded. “I’m sure you know who I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really didn’t before I spoke with Technoblade</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Of course, I’ve followed your work since I got into the business.” He laughed softly, “could barely contain my excitement when you arrived, it was like winning the lottery.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squid grinned, knocking the table with his hand. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He folded his hands together, resting them on the table. “I would love to integrate my operation into yours, I think we’ll make a stunning partnership.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful.” A genuine, catlike smile spread across Tommy’s face. “Should we hammer it out here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squid raised his eyebrows. “Sign an agreement now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Tommy shrugged, “we’ll burn the evidence anyway, won’t we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squid paused for a moment and furrowed his eyebrows before nodding. “Only hurts to be hasty, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Softly in his ear, Tommy heard Wilbur whisper.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Fuckin’ jackpot.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just grinned even wider.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Takedown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all so much for the super sweet comments and all of the support last chapter :)) i thrive off of all of your kindness and wonderful praise :)) enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Despite being ingrained almost instantly and completely into Squid’s organization, Tommy had never been more bored in his life. He wasn’t even at fault for being bored or doing nothing, all of his part in the plan was to simply sit tight and pretend to be a man that didn’t exist. Wilbur was doing most of the behind the scene things to keep their plan from going haywire, anyway. Tommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>having to sit still and twiddle his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All day he was waited on by an assistant and instructed to stay in Squid’s cold office on the 55th floor of some random skyscraper downtown, before he’d go home for the evening and report to Dream. It wasn’t even like he could go on his phone and do anything productive either, like what was he supposed to do, broadcast all of his important emails directly to the enemy? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So for two weeks he sat in that office, or accompioned Squid to meetings, or made up fake statistics about his supposed organization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most interesting thing he’d done that week was tour a facility that made Squid’s Ta-To. He’d been taken there in a nice car, with Squid in the passenger’s seat, and himself in the back. The Ta-To was produced on the south side of town, in a massive warehouse, not too dissimilar to the one he’d seen at Techno’s place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty swanky, huh?” Squid had asked him as he’d stepped out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, pressing his lips together, “I’ve never seen one in person before, wouldn’t know myself, but it looks like...something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside were giant machines tended to by workers in hazmat suits. The air had that acrid smell of rotten potatoes, and though Tommy pinched his nose, Squid breathed it all in, turning to him with a look of pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy couldn’t wait to see it all come crashing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s almost too easy to trick,” Tommy said, bouncing on the tips of his toes. Dream sat across from him, writing something down on a piece of paper, nodding along to the very one-sided conversation. “I didn’t even have to do that much to get him to trust me, either. Just some clever work by Wilbur, I don’t even know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing right now, but apparently it’s something clever according to Tubbo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did Wilbur say he did?” Dream lifted his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. “Well he created the persona and spread some rumors about it, not much, but it basically secured me a spot in Squid’s new entourage. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he looked back down to his papers. “Just interesting. Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I found out that Squid keeps his list of clients in a physical book.” Dream’s pen stopped scratching on the paper, and Tommy continued. “Some sort of black notebook, he keeps it in a safe in the warehouse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that will be good to note.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days were the same, sitting around in an office, talking with Squid, reporting to Dream. Part of him wanted to sneak into the warehouse and steal the client list, just to prove he was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy texted Tubbo nearly constantly, long paragraphs about how bored he was, and how he might steal the black book, which had started to consume his thoughts, only to receive a simple “k”, in return, to which Tommy would reply with miles long texts of anger in return. He was beyond ready to be finished, and wished that they would update him at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a waiting game, he’d long realized. One he utterly bored of playing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo sat back in the car, his hand on the ignition and the other hovering over the button to speed dial Sapnap. Outside, Wilbur stood alone, waiting for some contacts to arrive. Mafia, Wilbur had told him before leaving the car. Tubbo had no idea why they didn’t think to bring backup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been told to stay in the car with the windows shut, but that hadn’t stopped him from activating the mic Wilbur had worn earlier while they were speaking with Squid’s people that he’d forgotten to take off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small black car arrived shortly, and two scary looking men in black suits and untucked ties stepped out. The crossed the alley to stand maybe eight or so feet from Wilbur. Tubbo sank down farther into his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Soot,” one of them addressed him in a thick accent. “You said you had business?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, I have some important information for you.” Wilbur regarded both of them. “You’re going to want to pull all of your support out of Squid’s operation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo lifted his head up to see the eyes of one of the men narrow. “Why would we pull out of one of the most lucrative business opportunities we’ve had in the past several years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know Technoblade?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Set up back ways into buying from him, but don’t pull your support publicly from Squid, not until the shoe drops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What shoe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be clear soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the reason to trust you, fixer?” The man moved his hand to his belt, and Tubbo dropped his head back down as he saw the outline of a gun. “Your kind has screwed us over before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I screwed you over, personally?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man paused. “I can’t say that you have yet.” He cocked his head, but moved his hand from the gun, crossing his arms over his chest. “But what’s to stop you from taking the opportunity now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I thought that your organization wasn’t important enough to undermine a total takedown, I wouldn’t have asked.” Wilbur placed a hand on his hip. “There are some shifting powers on the playing field recently. They point towards Techno being the newest and main supplier, and the Dream Organization to take over distribution. I don’t think I need to tell you the sort of clientele reached by that one in particular.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man who had spoken leaned over to his partner, whispering something that Tubbo couldn’t hear. The other man responded, and the first straightened up, pushing a thin lipped smile onto his face. “We’ll need to speak it over with the superior, but for now, consider yourself as having our support.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give Dona Matrie my love,” Wilbur replied. Tubbo watched as Wilbur waited for them to turn on heel and leave, never once taking his eyes off their backs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>The call came at about noon on a Friday evening. Wilbur didn’t even disguise himself over the phone as Tommy picked it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ello?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Head out Tommy, it’s crashing in less than an hour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tommy rolled his eyes. “I’ve been stuck on my ass…” his eyes flicked up to the assistant, “waiting for you to return my calls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well sorry I can’t take down one of the city’s most powerful drug lords in one night Tommy Innit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m heading there now,” Tommy stood. He pulled the phone to his chest and gave the assistant one of his best fake smiles. “One of my people. Tell Squid I’ll take lunch with them today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh alright,” the woman nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled the phone back up to his ear as he headed out. “Alright, prick, you’ve got my new orders in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there was someone in the room, I see,” Wilbur replied slowly. “Head down to Macully’s, across the street, it’s a little cafe, we can watch the shit show go down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My kind of party,” Tommy said as he thumped his way down the stairs. He pushed the door out onto the street open, and looked both ways before heading to the restaurant. Wilbur waved a hand, and Tommy ended the call, pulling open the door and taking the seat across from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what you wanted to drink so I just got you water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah it’s fine, that sounds better than the shit they were serving me up there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were they serving you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only club soda with lemon.” He threw his hands yup, “just because you got lemon and bubbles in your water doesn’t mean it’s better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.” Wilbur’s eyes were mostly trained on the entrance to the building and the street outside. “Oh this is gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watching Squid get arrested or taking all the credit in front of Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked towards Tommy, letting out a soft snort as he shook his head. “Have you made it your life's mission to annoy me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tommy replied. “But I can make it that if you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Wilbur pointed to a blue car that pulled up in front of the building. “It’s starting,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “Detective.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are you finally going to tell me how you did all of this?” Tommy looked between the woman getting out of her car, and Wilbur’s excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This really isn’t the place to do that,” he moved his head between looking at Tommy and the building. “Anyone can listen in. Also,” he snapped his fingers. “You’ll need to thank Fundy next time we see him, which may be a while, oh and also Sam too, they helped me erase every trace of Blake Carm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so tired of being called</span>
  <em>
    <span> Blake</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like what sort of name is Blake? You could’ve called me something cool, like Victor, or William, or fuckin’ Technoblade. Like? Talk about a powerful name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technoblade can pull off that name, you could never.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that sort of name would suit me.” Tommy lifted his eyebrows as another car pulled up. “Ooh detective number two?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it. Oh, and there’s a third.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two watched the group of people gather downstairs, before a group of squad cars posted up outside as well. In an instant, Tommy and Wilbur watched as the building was stormed. People filtered inside, weapons drawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s almost our cue to leave, make one final report to Dream.” Wilbur noted. “When we leave, keep your head down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tommy responded softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swung open, and Tommy watched as two detectives pulled a protesting Squid out the door. Officers followed with boxes for evidence and other people in cuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mission complete, I guess,” Tommy snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Out the back we go.” Wilbur stifled a grin before standing. “To Dream we go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They jetted across town in the Hawkeye, where they headed inside, only to find Dream sitting in the foyer, Tubbo sitting near him on a computer, shooting glances at him every few seconds. Tommy was mostly surprised to see him away from his moody fireside lighting, sipping what looked like a coffee, and reading something on his phone. As they entered, he pulled down the mask over his mouth, but Tommy didn’t miss what looked like scar tissue that cracked across his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squid’s down?” He asked, more for confirmation than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just watched him get arrested from a cafe across the street,” Tommy grinned. “They basically started carting out everything just as we were leaving. Hard drives, filing cabinets, the works.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Dream nodded. “And Wilbur if I remember correctly, you left the warehouse untouched like I asked, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have the cops take that as well?” Tommy questioned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left that for us,” Wilbur replied. “The cops knew about his financials, and such, but by the time they sniff out where the drugs are, the facilities to produce them, the machines, the workers, they’ll be all ours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Tommy murmured. “And I know exactly where the black book is too, it’s in that same warehouse where he keeps the machines and drug supply. I don’t think it’d be hard to crack the safe anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The book is what I’m counting on,” Dream stood, “though Squid being taken down is good for Techno, it’s even better if we can move all of the clients directly over.” He opened his phone, putting something into it. “So we raid it now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?” Tommy lifted an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Dream pulled a phone from his pocket and began to make a call. “We.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>The battalion of cars arrived like a tidal wave. Dream had driven the head car himself, with Sapnap in the passenger seat, a rifle in his lap, and Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo in the back. Reinforcements drove in a line behind them, and as Tommy watched Wilbur’s face, the excitement only grew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never stormed a place before, and riding in on Dream’s coattails would be an experience to tell his kids about. As they stepped out, Sapnap took point, but the area was mostly deserted anyway, much more empty than it had been when Tommy had been here for his tour a few weeks previous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream strode after Sapnap, “which one was it Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There,” Tommy pointed to the warehouse just to their left. “But this place wasn’t this abandoned when I was last here. Let’s just hope there’s anything left.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream spoke, but didn’t turn to address Tommy. “How many people would’ve known about that client book?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Tommy faltered. “Based on where and when he told me, probably just higher ups and him...and me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t be hard to track it down anyway, even if someone took it,” Dream replied. “Especially with his network collapsing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, the door’s open.” Sapnap spoke up. He prodded at the small gap with the butt of his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably from people leaving after getting word that Squid was arrested.” Wilbur spoke up. “Word would’ve traveled fast enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream nodded to Sapnap, and he wrenched the massive side door open with hand. It was dark in the interior, but some light still filtered in through the open vents above, and from the flickering lights hanging from the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait…” Tommy spoke. The interior was almost completely empty, not in a way that it had been looted by workers fleeing and grabbing what they could, but in a way that the whole room looked like nothing had been in there at all. The whole place had been filled to the rafters with machines and Ta-To stock and people just less than a few days before. Tommy could see where machines had been unbolted, and the massive bags of potatoes had sat in the corner, but it was like every little bit of evidence was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that he noticed the lone man standing at the very center. Tommy didn’t even know how he’d missed him, but he saw him then, and a familiar sense of dread creeped into his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could it be...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.” The man took in a deep breath, “smell that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy froze, head whipping towards Tubbo. His eyes were blown wide, his mouth suddenly gaping open. Tommy knew he must look the same as chills ran up the backs of his arms. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There was no way</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smells like you were just a little too late.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned, revealing himself all at once, though Tommy and Tubbo knew the voice, and its subsequent owner, all too well. Dressed in suit, white shirt, black attire, and a red tie pinned down with the familiar golden pin of a charging ram, stood J. Schlatt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man who had taught them everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt?” Tommy said hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt,” Dream spoke coldly, the name bitter on his tongue. Schlatt furrowed his eyebrows, looking first at Tubbo, and then to Tommy, and then to Dream. He didn’t even seem to consider them for more than a moment, before his focus went entirely to the man in the mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” The man smirked. “I thought you might be the police. Hello Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream let out a sigh. “Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you were the one behind this.” Schlatt raised his eyebrows when Dream didn’t answer. “Behind the whole Squid thing,” he clarified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know about this?” Dream spoke firmly. “Everything about it was kept private until less than an hour ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Schlatt put a finger to his lips. “All I really know, is that a little birdie told me that I should mosey my sweet ass down here to check it out and, mmm! These are some very nice warehouses indeed.” With his free hand, he pulled a book from his pocket. Tommy’s eyes widened. “Lots of juicy little secrets it has.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” Dream asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he replied. It was hard to. Tommy was at a loss for words, eyes flicking between Tubbo and Schlatt and feeling a familiar panic and nostalgia of the past caught up with him all at once. He felt like he might throw up. “That’s the one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sapnap,” Dream snapped. “Take him out.” The man moved quickly, rifle aimed at the man’s head as he pressed closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait,” Schlatt put up his hands. “You’re not gonna wanna do that, Dream.” The grin on his face was sickening. Dream held up his own hand, and Sapnap stopped where he stood. Tommy could see Sapnap’s finger tighten on the trigger regardless. “Or did you forget who I’ve got in my pocket? You might have the Mayor wrapped around your finger, and he might be able to get the police to </span>
  <em>
    <span>excuse</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, but don’t forget who really owns them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a momentary pause, and Tommy watched as Dream’s shoulders tightened. “Stand down.” The front of the rifle dipped down, and Sapnap frowned, but backed away. However, Tommy didn't miss the look on his face. Almost disappointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Schlatt lowered his hands. “You remember what happened last time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Dream replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no more response from Schlatt than a crooked toothed smile. “I think uh,” he flipped through the black book. “I think this is really gonna come in handy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll regret it,” Dream interjected. “That sort of thing, for you, will do more harm than good. What could you, one man, with a hand in the police department and one up his ass, do anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than you could ever dream of.” He chuckled at the joke. “More than you could ever anticipate.” Schlatt started walking towards the exile, and Tommy bristled as he passed Dream. “Oh, and one last thing.” He pointed two fingers, one at Tubbo, and one at Tommy. “Didn’t I tell you two to forget me after everything? This really goes against the fucking contract, kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was at an utter loss for words as he watched the man disappear out through the open door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room exploded into shouting almost immediately. Those who’d come as reinforcements spoke more quietly, but the voices of those around him echoed through the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just let him get away?” Sapnap yelled at Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the world just happened?” Wilbur asked breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt.” Tubbo said even quieter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell was he talking about?” Dream had turned his full gaze towards Tommy. The room quieted immensely at the sound of Dream’s voice. “He said ‘contract’,” Dream put the words in quotes with his fingers. “Tommy, what did he mean, what was he talking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt was…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was our mentor,” Tubbo spoke up. “Back when we were first starting out. He taught us everything he knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kidding,” Wilbur said breathlessly. “That’s who it was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream whipped towards Wilbur. “Did you know about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He knew we had a mentor,” Tommy replied. “But I didn’t tell him who.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t go around him and look into it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promised him my trust,” Wilbur protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promise your trust to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the man spoke harshly. “Not these people you barely know, not when it could be someone like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dream gestured to where Schlatt had gone, “in play. You understand how this is worst case scenario, don’t you, Wilbur? We’ll talk about this later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream didn’t say anything for a moment, his fist clenching before he squared his shoulders, and relaxed. He turned to their reinforcements who looked at him awkwardly. “Everyone, salvage what you can, anything you can find. As for you two.” He turned his focus back to Tommy and Tubbo. “You will have an immediate debrief in my office when we return to the mansion.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Debriefing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tubbo and Tommy sat in silence in Dream’s office for a good half an hour, both of them too shaken to quite fathom what they’d just seen. Tommy kept wanting to say something, open his mouth and reassure Tubbo that everything was going to be alright. He wasn't sure he could even manage to convince himself of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He looked...not much different than I remembered,” Tubbo said finally. Tommy was almost glad that it was him who'd been brave enough to speak up. “I just wish we could’ve seen him again in a different circumstance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you have really wanted that?” Tommy replied softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno.” He sighed. “It would’ve been good to talk with him, and now…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream knows more about the situation than we do. As always.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door in the back of the room opened, and the two turned in their chairs to see Dream standing in the doorway. He looked tired, his shoulders drooping as he rubbed under the mask with a finger. Without speaking, Dream closed the door behind him and crossed the room. He took a seat at the table across from them, pulling some papers out of a drawer in his desk, along with a pen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream lifted his head, and poised the pen over the paper. “Before we start, I want you two to be entirely truthful with me. Lying will just get you nowhere you want to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy picked at the skin on the back of his thumb. “Uh, what do you want to know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream paused, and lifted his pen. “Start from the beginning. Go from there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, met him just before I turned 17,” Tommy spoke first. “I had…” he looked at Tubbo. This was the first time he’d be telling anyone other than him about it. It felt wrong, but it was either tell Dream everything, or...he really didn’t want to find out what Dream had meant. “I left home because of disagreements with my dad. I dropped off the face of the earth practically, got a job working at a restaurant downtown, which happened to be one of the places he liked to pull his cons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy continued to pick at his fingernails. “The Selby Bar and Grill, it’s on North 7th, back behind that auto shop that burned down.” Dream took the moment to write it down, before nodding for Tommy to continue. “When I first noticed him, I just kind of watched him for a while; but after some time, I started pestering him to teach me. At first he laughed me off, but he eventually agreed to take me under his wing. It wasn’t long after that Tubbo joined as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I picked Tommy’s pocket and he happened to catch me, and after Schlatt asked me some questions, how I learned to pick, if I wanted to know more, I started getting taught from him as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did you work with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up until the beginning of the last job, so uh, from sometime in June almost three years ago…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was July for me,” Tubbo interrupted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. “Up until about four months ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where was he located out of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The uh, auto shop that burned down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream lifted the pen. “I’m assuming he burned it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did, actually,” Tubbo looked squarely at the space between his feet and the floor. “He had us douse it, said it symbolized us burning away our memories and time with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why did he have you do that?” Dream wrote something down in quick, messy writing. “I remember he mentioned a contract?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said after we were done, we’d never tell anyone we were involved with him, and pretend that we didn’t even know him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he ever say why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo was the first to respond. “He said that it was for our safety.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Dream hummed. “Interesting.” There was a long silence. Tommy wanted to sink into the floor. Schlatt had always been a friend, a figure in his life like the cool uncle who gave you a cigarette. It was now that he was beginning to wonder if Schlatt was the sort to give over a cigarette because he’d thought Tommy was cool enough, or he’d just wanted to watch a kid cough on the smoke because he thought it was funny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much did he talk about the jobs he was pulling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He never really pulled anything without us,” Tubbo answered after Tommy had stayed silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words shocked him back into reality. “Uh, yeah,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “he rarely did anything without us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he ever mention anyone else he was working with, any events he went to or people he met with repetitively? Anyone he was connected to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually all lackeys, or drug dealers,” Tommy bit the inside of his lip. “Never anyone he was pulling jobs with, or hanging around, he was really kind of a solo guy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was quiet for another moment, as Dream finished up his writing. “You both know nothing about his operations, which is disappointing, and confusing that he didn’t take you in to his work, but at least I know that you two will still be assets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His operations?” Tommy played dumb. Dream knew more than they both did, that was clear, and if Schlatt had been doing things behind their backs...He knew Schlatt was a liar, he’d learned from the best, hadn’t he? It came as a shock, but not a surprise. It still hurt either way. He just wanted to know what had been hidden from him for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream folded his hands on top of the desk. “I think you’re both probably realizing that Schlatt isn’t the guy you thought he was. I can confirm for you that he’s a lying, scheming conman, who doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and will never, ever tell the truth unless it benefits him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That can’t be true,” Tubbo’s voice wavered. Tommy felt the sharp feeling of confusion and anger churning in his stomach. That familiar pointed rejection of being told something you care about is wrong, sick, terrible thing. Still, he remembered the small things from his time under Schlatt, that didn’t add up, and that he normally excused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream stood, and crossed the room. He pulled a key from around his neck, slotting it into a locked file cabinet and opening it. Inside, was a lockbox. Dream let it fall onto the desk with a thud, before unlocking it with his finger pressed against a censor. “I have police reports that were deleted and nearly destroyed, all by Schlatt, combined with my own personal files compiled by my data accessors, showing his past criminal behavior and connected dealings. You can read through them, if you want, you don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the case around, inside, were dozens upon dozens of files, all with neat labels, written with dates, and short case names. There was one in particular that stood out. Tommy had long memorized the date; for he still had nightmares about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo looked up at Dream. “How can you prove that this is all true information? How do </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> know you’re not the wrong one and showing us this to turn us against Schlatt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can give you access to where my people got it, but not much besides my own words.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy reached out, and pulled out the one labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>May 18th</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He opened it slowly, and read along the first page. The more he read, the more his heart sank. Tommy remembered the day vividly, all of the times and reports inside matched up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, Tommy handed the </span>
  <em>
    <span>May 18th </span>
  </em>
  <span>it to Tubbo, who also seemed to notice the date. “Tommy…” Tommy took another file. Skimmed it, closed it, and handed it to Tubbo. Tubbo looked at him with an open mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream’s telling the truth.” He let out a sigh. Tommy felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. It hurt in a way he couldn’t describe. Like a betrayal. “I really wish he wasn’t, but he is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two can head home,” Dream returned the folders to their box, closing it with a click. “Take some time off, we’ll call you back in when we need you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>George sat in the chair across from Dream, slumped down into it as he paged through some dreadfully boring novel one of his party-going admirers had recommended. It was all intrigue, no payoff, no catharsis, just endless tension. Seriously, why couldn’t writers just throw in a skimpy little sex scene once and while, just for fun?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flicked up to Dream, who stood behind his desk, flipping through a series of papers, and picking up the pen next to him every once and a while to mark something down. He’d been doing this for an hour or so now, the same series of shifting and moving, and honestly George didn’t know how he’d managed to focus for so long. George honestly wished Dream would focus on </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not the papers, and maybe actually make some time for them before he was whisked across the country to do god knows what with god knows who. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To say he was jealous was an understatement, because the feeling went much deeper than that, more than George himself knew to describe, He just wished Dream would look at him, or maybe talk to him outside of consulting on his latest bout of confusion with a client or competitor. George really missed the days where it was just them, alone, talking on Dream’s couch downtown, a campy movie playing in the background that they had no intention of watching in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George sat up, shifting his book so it rested just under his eyeline, so that if Dream looked up, he might see them, and finally get drilled into his thick head of what he’d been forgetting about that was right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, he thought, he’d go back to Sapnap, just to piss Dream off, make him think about what was really important to him, what he was missing out on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?” Dream asked without looking up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” George looked up at him from the book. Not too difficult, a flick of the eyes, hiding his smile behind the book’s pages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve clearly been focusing on something other than the book since you sat down, and your shuffling in the chair is distracting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can be more distracting if you want,” George spoke slyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream flipped a piece of paper over. He still hadn’t looked up at George yet. “I actually need to focus on this, and I mostly just asked you in here for advice. You’re the one that ended up staying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words stung, but George rolled his eyes. “What do you need me to look at?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream looked over his papers before gathering up a few and handing them to George. He skimmed them in the silence. They were all about Schlatt, cases, dates, testimonies, and what George recognized as some of Dream’s personal record keeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I supposed to be looking at?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to figure out how Schlatt knew about the warehouses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George tossed the papers back onto the table. “You’re still hung up on that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s important George, it means there’s a hole in my system somewhere where information leaked through, and I need to patch it up before Schlatt can rip it wider.” He reached for the papers George had tossed haphazardly, and reorganized them again. “Schlatt’s only recently been out to get me, he’s been poaching clients and been one step ahead for months.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Months?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream paused a moment, and for once lifted his head to look at George. “He’s been the one I’ve been busy with, and now that I know where he is, I can keep an eye on him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s eyes widened. “Does that mean you’ll be staying here for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as he’s in Vegas, I’ll be here too, for now at least, unless a bigger problem comes up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, nice, good.” George leaned back in his seat. “It’ll be nice to have you around. We all really miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me and Sapnap, and like Bad sometimes too, when you don’t come to meetings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream nodded to his papers. “Hmm.” His gaze lingered on Dream’s hands, watching as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. The slight tip up of his chin exposing the dark shadows cast on his face by the mask. “You think about me when I’m gone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve thought about you enough.” George had closed the book over his finger, and he let the corners of the pages dig into his skin. “I…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I think that having you here would be good for everyone, for our reputation. You being absent has left things disjointed, certain people are taking leadership roles more than before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that makes you suspicious? Angry? What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With you gone all the time, I think that people don’t see you as much of a threat as you used to be.” He watched Dream fiddle with the papers again. “As much as I know you are, my words aren’t always enough to convince others of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Dream paused, and pushed a paper aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, well, somewhat. I think I may have a suspicion as to why Schlatt might’ve known, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George groaned. “You’re still on Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I need to stop up the holes before they burst in my face.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, what is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were no leaks in the system, I made sure I paid the right people, and yet...he still knew. Which means we can only come to one conclusion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George lifted an eyebrow. “Which is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eyes of Dream’s mask came level with his. “There’s a mole in my organization.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. A Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The car was nearly silent, save for the radio, and it was almost a more uncomfortable drive this time around than last time. Eret sat in the back row of a small black car, accompanied by Dream, George, Sapnap, and Wilbur, on their way to make good on their promise to Technoblade. He seemed to be the only one confused by the silence, attempting to make conversation a few times, only for it to mute into the dead quiet that permeated now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was squished in between Wilbur and Sapnap, and the combination was an odd one to say the least. Sapnap had been staring out the window since they’d gotten going, arms crossed against his chest, slouched back in his seat as much as the room he had would allow him to. Wilbur was much the same, more bored of being there than nervous in any way. Eret wished he knew the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream sat in the driver's seat, masked face fixed on the horizon, hands gripping the wheel. George was perched in the passenger’s seat, one foot pulled up against his chest as he rested his chin on top of his knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret leaned his head back, and prayed that he wasn’t about to sit through a silent standoff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carmen was a pretty town, he noted as they drove through it. Lots of small homes and grit. The farm hadn’t changed much at all, expect that there was no one working in the fields, all of the tractors and equipment put away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In front of the little farmhouse, Techno stood on his own. He wore a nice white shirt, a pair of black pants, and a red overcoat. His hair was washed and pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of recently cleaned glasses, with a bit of duct tape on the bridge, perched on his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret had actually called this time previous, though their conversation was just as cold as the one before. It was his fault, technically, that he didn’t stay, and his mistake, as well, that he didn’t even think to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the sound of car doors slamming, as Dream took the front, Sapnap to his left, and George on his right. Eret stayed towards the back, while Wilbur kept his head high, standing just behind the three. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream,” Techno stood perfectly still, hands pulled behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technoblade.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t kidding when they said you wear a mask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream bobbed his head slightly. “They were not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was happy to hear the news about Squid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Dream looked to George, and then to Sapnap. “I’ve done everything you asked of my people, and now I’m wondering if you would please take the time to renegotiate a contract with us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno turned, waving his hand for them to follow. “I don’t really see why not. If I’m important enough to get the high and mighty Dream to drive all the way out here, I must be worth something pretty good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen door to the porch opened with a creak, and each person entered one by one, with Eret letting it slam closed behind him, with that rattling tinny sound. The inside of the house was quaint, and a large kitchen table had some mismatched chairs pulled up around it. There wasn’t much light in the interior, besides what came in through the windows, and from the lamp sitting on the ground in the corner. It was there that Eret noticed a man moving around the kitchen. He was of somewhat medium height, wearing a green robe and a floppy black hat on his head, long blond hair falling around his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His attention was brought back to the table as everyone settled in, Techno and Dream at the far sides, Sapnap and George taking their places on either side of Dream, while Wilbur and Eret we left to sit at the two empty seats that were left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice place,” Dream remarked as he sat back. “Quaint.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all of us can afford to be big city hotshots,” Techno replied. There wasn’t any scorn in his voice, instead, he just sounded tired. “And besides, I didn’t think my office would be the best suited to house six people. I don’t really have any meeting space besides here, or the barn, and I’d doubt you’d want to smell rotten potatoes the entire time.” His tired, drooping eyes lifted to look at Dream. “Gets stuck in your nose after a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can imagine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get anyone anything to drink?” The man who’d stood in the kitchen had turned, he had an accented voice, and scruff on his chin, and looked a good few years older than Techno. Eret didn’t miss the sudden look of surprise on Wilbur’s face, and the slight movement in Dream’s body language. “Water, tea, coffee?” He moved to open the fridge. “We’ve got some apple juice in the back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream cleared his throat. “Techno, you didn’t tell me that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, that’s my Uncle…” he folded his hands together. “Phil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I see why your business has done so well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was all him,” Phil spoke up, “I started to help with the books.” He put a hand on his hip. “So, coffee, water, tea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a tea,” George raised a finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee,” Wilbur nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, water for me,” Eret moved his eyes between Phil and the group gathered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have the stuff for an irish coffee?” Sapnap asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah sure,” Phil nodded. “Techno? Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pass,” Dream replied. His voice was firm. Wilbur seemed shaken, and Dream clearly recognized this man, Phil, but didn’t seem to make any other move than to question Techno about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water for me, thanks Phil.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream watched Phil disappear behind the corner before speaking. “Just before we start I need to ask you something important.” Techno gave him a nod to continue. “Did you let anyone else know what you asked us to do about Squid. Was there anyone who might’ve known about the plot to take him down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t tell anyone outside of my office, besides your goon squad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to buyers or clients?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any direct contact with them, all for security reasons. I usually work through a proxy, secure under threat and pressure.” Techno paused. “Though on your reputation alone, you’re allowed to be here. I won’t forget you letting your people trapse onto my land without warning, though.” His eyes fell on Eret, who lifted his head with a nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’d had your number, I would’ve called.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause long enough for Eret’s stomach to drop. “Would you have?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension was broken as Phil headed over to bring them their drinks, the soft thank yous, and the clinks of mugs against the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream pulled up a briefcase Eret hadn’t seen him bring in with him. He set it on the table, clicking it open before pulling out many piles of paper. They passed them around, and spent the next hour going through the most boring policy Eret had ever had to sit through. He honestly wondered why they’d even brought him with, but he knew his position as a liaison was important, and Techno did seem somewhat at ease, if a bit grouchy, with him there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the other three, Wilbur, George, and Sapnap, were as bored as him, they played it off well. Sapnap flipped through the pages, his cheek leaned into the palm of his hand, and though he seemed to do it absent-mindedly, he posed genuine questions about security. George did as well, asking a few things about their plays for distribution in local clubs, where he could swing by to try and push new product, and how he might be able to show it off at his own local party. Besides Dream, it was Wilbur who’d spoken the most, he was cocky and confident in what he put forth, but there was something about how he and Dream spoke to one another that prickled in Eret’s mind. Something was off between the two of them, almost as if they were...competing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man who Eret was beginning to think wasn’t actually Techno’s “Uncle”, hovered near Techno’s shoulder. He would give some soft advice every now and again, and Techno would nod, and add it to the conversation if he seemed to like it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno, despite his farmer boy exterior, spoke quite eloquently, and Eret remembered that when they’d first met, he’d been working through his Master’s degree, and wondered how many thick novels on the shelves had been read, and if they weren’t actually just for show. He had been working in this line of business for several years now, Eret knew that, but the amount he knew about...everything to do with Ta-To astounded him. He brought in growth rates and decay rates of potatoes versus the speed at which the market consumed, how much he’d need with the new orders, and most importantly, how much new business Dream would bring in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately,” Dream slowed. “We weren’t able to recover all of Squid’s clients.” He nodded to Wilbur, “I’ve been made aware that some of the more prominent militant forces that were behind his operation were swayed to our side, but they’re not always often in the buying business.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad,” Techno grunted. “I’m sure you’ll fix that in a few months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure Wilbur can look into it,” Dream nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is that everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One last thing.” Dream pulled another sheet of paper out of the briefcase. He pushed it so that everyone would pass it across the table. “I want you to move to Las Vegas. Come work with us personally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a nice offer, but no, I’m-” He looked down at the paper, his eyebrows unable to contain his reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream folded his hands together. “Every month.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Month!?” Techno looked up. “You’d pay me this each </span>
  <em>
    <span>month</span>
  </em>
  <span> to move to Vegas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil leaned over his shoulder, jerking back up with a, “jesus christ.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno took in a breath, before sliding the paper back across the table. “As much money as this is, I can’t take it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Double it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream-” Techno sighed. “I can’t leave the farm, do you know how hard it would be to stay held together without me here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The best accommodation, the best food money can buy, high speed internet, all along with a monthly salary.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna leave my farm,” Techno grimaced. “Because I know if I go with you, you’ll just try to put me in the ring again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap chuckled, “what sort of weird fucking euphemism is that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not,” Eret spoke up, furrowing his eyebrows. “That’s how they met, isn’t it?...And how I really met the two of you. Techno used to fight in the underground rings, the ones just outside of Vegas? He would fight, and Dream would gamble, and that’s how they met.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait really?” Sapnap grinned, “and you never told me about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was back before I really got big, when I was still dead-broke.” Dream let out a breath. “But yes, that is how we met. However, back to what we were saying, I still need to be in direct contact with you, and I don’t trust your wifi out here to be secure enough to work online, and I’m assuming installing some sort of high speed internet and cell tower out here might kick up some interest in those you don’t want poking around.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why don’t I give you a go-between?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure that’s a great idea-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have Eret stay here on the campus, and then come back to Vegas to report every week or so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream-” Eret spoke up, “are you sure, I mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re between projects right now, right?” Dream’s mask turned towards him. “And not doing much for me besides being here, so why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some random dude I’d have a problem with, but I know Eret,” Techno shrugged. “I’m fine if you stay here. You can finally make up for everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret blinked. He had really not expected to be asked to move himself from one of the busy places in the world to the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t like he was exactly abandoning his home though...he had practically lived out of hotels and AirBnbs since beginning to work for Dream. It wouldn’t be that different, would it? It’d give him some time the think, the air out here would be nice, and he could see check in on people on the weekends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, well.” He pressed his lips together into a half smile. “Why not.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Parlor Trick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The room was quiet as Tubbo sat alone in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in Vegas, and perhaps the country. Dream sat, with his head bowed over some paperwork, scratching away. Tubbo had arrived maybe five minutes before, the two of them still waiting on Wilbur to arrive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo had already tried to strike up a conversation, but Dream had shot him down almost immediately, mentioning the importance of the work he’d been doing when Tubbo had come in. It was dark and silent, except for the faint sound of a pen on paper. Tubbo couldn’t see what Dream was writing, he’d assumed that part was on purpose, but he could see the </span>
  <em>
    <span>loop-loop-loop</span>
  </em>
  <span> as his pen slid across the surface with grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock came from the door, and Dream cleared his throat and lifted his head, a groggy but clear, “come in!” leading to the door being opened briskly, before it was shut quietly by the entering figure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for my lateness.” Wilbur paused behind Tubbo’s chair for a moment. “I was finishing up some work in my office and lost track of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without speaking, Dream gestured to the empty chair next to Tubbo, and Wilbur took a seat. Tubbo kept expecting him to look up and address them, to say anything at all, but the silence continued for another few minutes. He tried to stay as still as possible, but he could hear Wilbur shifting in his chair next to him, looking between his phone and his watch, doing almost everything short of sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those few long, silent minutes drew themselves out, before Dream finally clicked his pen, set it next to the papers, organized them with a few good smacks on the table, before finally putting them to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have two problems that would currently be best suited to be handled by your hands.” He looked over at Tubbo. “Seeing as you’re a savant with cards, as George and Bad both independently told me of your prowess, I have a job for you.” Dream’s mask turned ever so slightly to look to Wilbur. “I’ll need your connections as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you doing a run on a casino?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not quite. I need Tubbo on duty at one of my own parlors. Schlatt’s been sticking his nose where he’s not supposed to, including poaching my clients from my own gambling halls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean your infamous gambling halls?” Tubbo’s eyebrows popped up. “Like Westgrab? Goldnose? Forktongue?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream lifted his head slightly. “You know them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreamed</span>
  </em>
  <span> of working in places like that,” Tubbo let out a sigh. “Big clients, big payouts, gripping games with high stakes. It’d be the next best thing after working with Tommy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, because you’ll be there for about two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tubbo said with surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, one week at least, a month at the most. I’ve been trying to track Schlatt’s movements around the different parlors, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any pattern to them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur crossed his arms over his chest. “But Schlatt knows Tubbo, isn’t that going to be a problem if you want him undercover?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> Schlatt is at the parlors, and I can’t just call him out on it, I need to catch him in the act, scare him off with one of our own, make him think that wherever he is, trying to poach clients, I’ve got an in to spy on him to take his information.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you need me to do?” Wilbur questioned. “Seems you’ve got this all under your control.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to speak with the people at the parlor I’m putting Tubbo in. If I were to go directly, the information would get out, and Schlatt wouldn’t get the message I want to send.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy enough,” Wilbur nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo, you’ll be ready to head out by tomorrow afternoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream folded his hands together and gave him a nod. “Then good luck to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know how to deal, right?” The woman didn’t even look at him as she flipped through a card deck. It was mesmerizing. Tubbo had never seen someone have such fluidity with cards before, never even at the Osprey could someone quite compare to his ability, even. “Sometimes I’m sent people who have no idea what they’re doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded his head, not looking away. He could barely contain his excitement, both at watching the woman, and being in the place he was now. “Yes, I dealt in a small town hall in Brighton as a kid, and I dealt for a few years throughout casinos in Vegas as well, most recently the Osprey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. She had wide false lashes thick with dark mascara, and rusty red eyeshadow that compliment the red-orange tint of her hair. “How old are you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, 20.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, they like em’ young now.” She headed off down a long hallway that had been to Tubbo’s back. “Come’on, I’ll want you out there for a shift change in twenty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what did you say your name was again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Wilbur really not tell you?” She glanced over her shoulder. “That banana-eating whore, calls me up, tells me I owe him a favor, doesn’t even give me your name, and doesn’t even tell you mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur’s...and interesting guy,” Tubbo responded. “And I’m Tubbo, by the way. If he didn’t tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the woman replied, still flicking cards in her hands. She muttered under her breath, “just because he suddenly works for Dream, and I work here doesn’t mean he gets all the favors he wants.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh," Tubbo trailed off slightly. "I thought that no one was supposed to know this was through Dream..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waved her hand, dismissing the question, "Wilbur and I go way back, he knows that I'll keep my trap shut." Her voice grew significantly louder. “So you said you used to work at the Osprey? How did you go from there to being one of Dream’s lackeys? That's a pretty high jump.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s um, complicated, and I’m not even sure, for my own legal sake, I can tell you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you were dealing illegally?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tubbo sputtered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not really twenty, are you?” She raised an eyebrow, her eyes, blue like a cold morning sky, bore unenthusiastically into his. “Don’t look it, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am twenty?” He protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to lie,” the woman turned back around. “I don’t really care, just means that you must be good at what you do. So you’re here for at least a week and a half, and at most, a month, what’s your angle here, why did Dream send you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can tell you that either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to tell me, or else I’m turning you around and sending you back out into that car you came from. Dream might own this place, but he doesn’t have his grubby little puppet strings wrapped around my neck like he does with other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo stuttered slightly. “It’s confidential business.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned back, raising an eyebrow at him. “You obviously are here to deal with some high roller gone wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, yeah,” Tubbo fought through the lie. “You got me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” the woman hummed. “I’m never wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The first thing to know about being undercover, is to never break the truth of what you’re doing to anyone, not even your contact, not even someone you get to know and might trust.” Wilbur had his hands on the steering wheel. He didn’t look at Tubbo directly, but their eyes met in the rearview mirror.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What if I get in trouble, and I need to get out of a situation with someone?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I dunno, someone starts getting uppity about my dealing style?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then you tell the floor manager and they deal with it, like you would when you used to deal, right?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo picked at the clothes Wilbur had given him. “Right.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The two reached the end of the hall, and the woman paused for a moment at the exit, where a black curtain hung over the doorway to murmuring voices, soft light coming underneath, and the thick smell of tobacco and perfume. “Last thing you need to remember, I’m the authority here, you can play on the house as long as you prove yourself as a dealer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo gave her a short nod, “of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be on table six, dealing poker. I’ll bring you to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how to open a table?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could do it in my sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed her lips together into a sort of smile. “You’ll do fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never told me your name,” he said as she moved to open the curtain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minx,” she replied with a grin. “Most people never ask. Including your sour-faced Soot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minx moved the curtain across with a deft by sharp hand. He waited for her to walk through, but she extended a hand for him instead. Tubbo gave her a few awkwards nods, before slipping through, and out into the room. The place itself was hidden away in an old building in lowertown, one that looked normal on the outside, with a waiting room and a receptionist, but once you confirmed your appointment, you were led back to what Tubbo could only assume was the room before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been met out the back with Minx, but she’d pulled him through that area briefly to grab him some things from the counter. The room where they were now was grand, with a balcony for employees that overlooked the main area, an oval-shaped room filled with poker tables, waiters with trays holding drinks being delivered to tables, and all manner of men, women, and gentlepeople in suits, dresses, and several outfits Tubbo raised his eyebrows at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the interesting get-ups some people wear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if they’re losing money to the house, we don’t care,” Minx shrugged, leading him around the oval towards a stairwell at the other end. Curtains all around the circle were pushed aside by employees holding trays and or entering to grab something, or simply using them to move around the area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream really started this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, used to come here a lot. I didn’t work here then, but old managers told me about it. Would come in, pick up some of the earnings with a whole crew to bring to a secure location, before dropping some of his own onto the tables.” The two of them headed down the small employee stairwell together. “Now some other guy comes to get it and does the same. Sapnap, I think it was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like him,” Tubbo replied. “He likes his drugs, alcohol, and gambling he does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minx didn’t say anything in return, but led him through the gaps in between tables to an empty one. “Table six,” she said finally. “Have fun, hope you find what your people are looking for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo took his seat at the table, taking the key he’d gotten from Minx, and unlocking the chip safe underneath the table. He laid them out into the grooves set into the table, while ordering and shuffling his deck. Tubbo did his last minute checks before moving the black triangular rod from the center of the table, signifying that he was open for play. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a week into his stint at the parlor that Tubbo found anything close to what he’d wanted. He’d been working for a while, usually eight to nine hours a day, time off on the weekends. The apartment he and Tommy shared was quiet these days, both of them off on their own jobs, that often he was only ordering takeout for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo had headed into the hall one evening, set up his table, ready for another boring night, when at about nine o’clock, a familiar face entered the building. It was too early for anyone to be as shitfaced as this guy was, but Tubbo knew him well, and found it odd that he wasn’t drunker than this by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex Quackity, wearing a neon suit covered in geometric shapes and patterns, his undershirt rumpled and stained around the collar and unbuttoned a bit too low, his tie a whole different shade of crazy, wearing a pair of sunglasses, stepped in, all on his own. It had been a long time since Tubbo had seen him, longer than when he’d last seen Schlatt two years ago, when they’d gone through one of their many, ugly break ups. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d ducked his head down, focusing more on his game than keeping track of Quackity. Tubbo could hear him stumbling around, playing a few games, drinking heavily. It was by trying to keep himself from catching Quackity’s eye that Tubbo caught it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way,” he’d said loudly. “Toobo is that you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi Quackity,” Tubbo cringed as the man took a seat at his table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna deal me in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other players didn’t seem exactly keen to have him there, but he wasn’t technically doing anything to warrant Tubbo telling him to leave, not like he’d have the guts to do that anyway, so he tossed Quackity a few cards across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more rounds, and the table was completely empty of anyone but an embarrassed Tubbo, and an excitable Quackity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is where you’ve been?” He asked. “Working for…” he lowered his voice, “Dream?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt told you?” Tubbo looked up suddenly, his hands freezing as he moved to deal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you were here?” Quackity’s face screwed up. He shook his head, “no, no. But this is Dream’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>place</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I would know, I’m here to uh, drive away the competition.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tubbo furrowed his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oops,” the man giggled. “Probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that, haha.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo felt his stomach flip. He really wished he was Tommy in that moment, Tommy was so good at getting people to tell him things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you're working here now?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo cleared his throat and nodded. "Best place for someone like me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Quick hands," Quackity made a motion with his own. "You were always crazy good with cards." He looked around the room. "Quiet, refined, rich people up for the taking. Where's Tommy in all of this?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Working um, uptown." Tubbo replied with a quick nod. "We share an apartment, but we don't work together, couldn't swing our jobs the way we used to." He looked up at Quackity breifly before back down a his cards. They weren't really playing anyway, it was more of a distraction, something to help him think about what Tommy might say. </span>
  <span>“So Schlatt sent you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup, thought he could ‘put me to good use’, or whatever the hell that means.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, are you two together right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Quackity exclaimed, “somehow he thinks some other stripper has a fatter ass than me, and that’s just, so wrong, everyone here knows I have the fattest ass in the room, everyone here is so jealous of my fat ass, I mean, you can tell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just, not gonna comment on that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he’ll come back to me, won’t he Toobo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shrugged, trying to think of anything Tommy might say to pry into Quackity. “He always does, doesn’t he?.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Quackity nodded. “But why doesn’t he </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> me like he should, shouldn’t I be the only one in his life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really shouldn’t-” Tubbo said quickly under his breath. “Haven’t you cheated on him like, several times?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only because he cheated on me first!” Quackity’s voice went up a few octaves. “We’ll get through it,” he shook his head, “I’m sure." The was the sound of cards being shuffled and the soft murmur of voices around them before Quackity spoke again. "Dream's made a pretty big name for himself, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um, I don't know him personally," Tubbo said quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity didn't even seem to hear him. "This faceless, dictator of this city, running everything the way he wants it, not letting the little guy get through." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo went quiet for a moment as he dealt out cards. "Is that what you think of him?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's what Schlatt thinks about him." Quackity leaned back in his chair. "Schlatt thinks he knows sooo much more than Dream does, he thinks he's got Dream wrapped around his finger, and with on little," he raised up his hand and flexed his index finger, "he can make Dream come crashing down. If he didn't have his confidant, Dream would crush him like he was nothing.</span>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Confidant?"  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh no no no, oooh, Toobo, I can’t tell you that.” He gave Tubbo a lopsided grin. "That part I know I can't say. Wasn't probably even s'posed to mention."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Quackity, so why exactly did you say you’re here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt said something about needing to drive down business, because these places weren’t good for business anymore.” Quackity spun the straw in his drink around with a finger. “He just had the brilliant idea of finishing up his grand finale by sending me here to clear people out by being horribly, horribly, myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds rather mean of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s a compliment,” Quackity sipped his drink. “I have power. That’s all anyone ever wants, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess?” Tubbo replied slowly. “How long ago did he tell you they were driving down business?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a week ago,” Quackity waved his hand. “Right after Schlatt met with his...”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Confidant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity snapped his fingers at Tubbo. "You're catching on quick. That confidant is the only thing keepin' Schlatt thinking like he knows more than Dream could ever,” he put his hand to his mouth as his cheeks puffed out, “dream of.” Quackity stood abruptly. “Oh I think I’m gonna be sick.” The man rushed off, leaving Tubbo alone in utter silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have a lot to tell Dream.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Gunpoint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy should’ve known it would be dangerous when Sapnap handed him a gun. He should’ve known to be careful, he should’ve expected a threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had been going smoothly since they’d joined up with Dream. After their conversations, and helping conscript Technoblade, things had been rolling good for Tommy. His paycheck had been adding up, he felt like he was in Dream’s good graces, and he and Tubbo could finally afford a plumber to come out and fix whatever weird dripping noise the sink made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had put him on a job, it was a simple grift, to get some information out of some people who didn’t like him, but wouldn’t bat an eye at Tommy. It was the first time Tommy was allowed a little off the leash, with Wilbur letting him spread his own rumors and identity. The circles traveled by those whose information they were looking to steal weren’t the same as Squid’s, and the identity of Blake Carm has been all but expunged from existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the name Jack Arthur, something interesting but forgettable, with the slight tribute to the name he’d used in his job with Tubbo that had gotten him here in the first place. The background as an arms dealer wasn’t hard to forge either, especially with some help from Wilbur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had poked his head into Wilbur’s office after running around town all of that morning, to find him with his legs propped up on his desk, and a cup of coffee in hand, reading something on his laptop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had raised his eyebrows, “you look sufficiently out of breath. Are you learning what it’s like to be me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been running around town since before four am, trying to slip in conversation and suggestions where I can, and I’ve never been this tired in my life.” Tommy pulled open one of the drawers on a cabinet pushed up against the wall and pulled out a coffee pod, before smacking it into Wilbur’s shitty coffee maker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ey, ey, ey, not the nice stuff.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna drink the nice stuff, I’m running on about two hours of sleep, some energy drinks I blasted this morning, and pure spite, I’m drinking it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur lifted up his hands in surrender and rolled his eyes as Tommy poured in the water and shoved a paper cup underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how’s it going overall?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re taking the bait so far, I just have to wait for them to ask for a meeting, and I can pry into their operation as far as Dream wants me to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are they anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some small time threat, they’re gaining power on the East side, and Dream doesn’t want that without either pushing them into our network or getting them out entirely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “So you’re gonna build yourself up and then confront them, pretty smart, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I learned it from the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight pause from Wilbur. “From Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No not from Schlatt,” Tommy waved his hand. “From you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur softened slightly. “I’m glad to hear that. Although…” Tommy brought the cup to his lips while Wilbur tried to form his words. “I’m just surprised it was Schlatt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t tell you,” Tommy spoke softly. “I should’ve, but telling you would’ve just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why couldn’t you tell anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He made us swear not to, it was a whole thing about cutting ourselves off from one another.” He held up a finger. “And before you ask, no, he never told us why. Just that we had to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sort of tragic,” Wilbur mused. “Knowing this teacher for so long, only for him to abandon you and tell you never to contact him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was necessary,” Tommy spoke quickly. “Besides, if we hadn’t stopped working with him, none of this would have happened, we probably would’ve even been on opposite sides.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur let out a long sigh through his nose. “You’d be surprised how fate ends up, even the slight jitter of a finger can change everything about the present. In another life, we might have been brothers, and another from that, enemies, and in another, maybe not know each other at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much coffee have you had today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just this,” Wilbur lifted the cup to his lips before mumbling, “and three monster energy drinks, but those really don’t matter in this context.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Right,” Tommy responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do you have a date to meet with this up-and-coming gang or whatever? You bringing backup?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably sometime next week, I’m gonna bring some muscle, maybe I’ll ask Sapnap, or whoever Dream gets for his mercenary work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s Punz, but he never works freelance, probably best to bribe Sapnap with the promise of Ta-To or a drink. Dream only hires the mercenary for big, big threats that he needs wrapped up and not attached to him. And Tommy,” Wilbur’s eyes stared back into his legitimately for the first time throughout their conversation, “be careful, don’t be reckless. Make good decisions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always doing that,” he snorted. “Thanks for the coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You took it without asking, but you’re welcome, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy left the room with a grin on his face, and a cup in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I did have a date with this cute little brunette I met at a party a few nights ago.” Sapnap was lounging on a couch with a sucker hanging out of his mouth. “What would I even get out of coming with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I’ll think of something,” Tommy shrugged. “But the meetings in like an hour, and I need someone who knows guns, I’m supposed to be an arms dealer, but googling shit can only get you so far.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap leaned his head back. “She’s like…so hot though…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she’s very hot Sapnap,” Tommy rolled his eyes, “but imagine all of the women you will get if you help me and make Dream happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dream schmeam,” Sapnap sighed. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Mmmm, what about you owe me a favor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever, a favor works, just come with me, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap straightened up on the couch. “Shake on it?” Tommy rolled his eyes at it, but still stuck out his hand. Sapnap shook Tommy’s hand firmly, a glint in his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two headed out the Hawkeye, which Sapnap asked him to pull around to the back of the mansion, where he apparently had his “tool shed”. It was modest compared to the house, with a large garage door that Sapnap pulled up with a hand. Tommy back the car up towards it, and when he got out, he was greeted with the clusterfuck that was the interior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were lined with all manner of firearms, rifles, shotguns, revolvers, pistols, even some things that looked downright illegal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are A90’s,” Sapnap pointed to one of the walls. “Golden Eagles, Potechelli’s, Good Friends, and even some I got off of market sales with Dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of market?” Tommy asked slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black market.” Sapnap bared his teeth in a grin, the white stick of the sucker sticking out from between his front teeth. “Where else?” He ran his finger along the wall, before rattling off a few they should bring with. Sapnap pulled back his jacket and pulled a pistol from the holster that sat above his hip. Without looking over, he handed it to Tommy. “This’ll be good for you, easy on the recoil, easy on the aim, it’s like my version of a pocket knife.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, why am I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna look like an arms dealer? They carry guns and dress like George on a good day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took it tentatively. “Can’t I just play the rich guy in this scenario? I do the talking, you do the shooting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want this to go well, you’re gonna wanna hope there’s no shooting.” Sapnap pulled another weapon from the wall and put it into his holster as a replacement. “And you’ll want to steal one of those coats with the fur collar from George’s closet. And take off the tie, and unbutton your shirt like two buttons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want them to believe you or not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “Fineee.” He did as Sapnap said, picking up a coat from the mansion, before returning to find Sapnap shutting the trunk with a slam. “Hey! Careful with my baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as you’re careful with mine,” Sapnap nodded towards where he’d stuffed the gun against his belt. “You still remember what I taught you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh yep, I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived at the place after a quick half hour drive, weaving through traffic, and heading out into the thick of it. The East side of town was filled with more small time, old residential things, filled with auto shops and dinky restaurants, and rundown housing complexes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One such auto shop was where they were meant to meet the leader of this new group, who was adamant about it after the promise of power. The smell as they entered was what put Tommy off almost immediately. It smelled exactly like...well it smelled like one of the last places he’d called home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d entered with Sapnap behind him, and the two were greeted by a man with a massive scar across his face. His eyes were a dark blue, and he scanned them with a hungry ferocity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack Arthur, good to finally meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You as well,” Tommy held out his hand as he layered on his American accent. “Simon something, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon Bucket. I have heard a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> about you from...basically everyone these past few weeks.” The man spread his hands. “When you offered, I just had to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> mostly deal in Silver Hawks, and AR-77’s.” Tommy clasped his hands together. “But if I could interest you in joining a larger network of dealers, I can promise you anything you desire.” He let the dark smile creep over his face. “Even the illegal sort from overseas.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would hope so.” Simon nodded. “In the business for them. You have some with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who would I be if I didn’t?” Tommy nodded to Sapnap. “Pop ‘em out of the trunk, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap nodded and did so, pulling out large black cases and setting them on top of the metal table in front of Simon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy began listing the Wikipedia pages he’d memorized for each of the weapons, using the dark web listings he’d gotten through Dream’s contacts to fill in the places that were missed. Sapnap had only stopped him once to clarify something, and things seemed to be moving smoothly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how did you get started out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like everyone does,” Simon inspected the length of the gun. “Desperation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, true,” Tommy nodded. He moved around the table. “Are you working with any other outside forces than your own gang?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would you want to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tommy blinked, “in case they’re viable candidates to sell to as well. In this line of work, you get business where you can, and word of mouth tends to be the best way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, I see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy was getting nothing out of this guy. He showed him a few more options, but he could only fluff him for so much longer before he ran out of things to say. There was no way Tommy was willing to go back to Dream empty-handed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much threat from outside forces these days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon straightened up from where he’d been leaned over the table. “You ask an awful lot of questions for an arms dealer Mr. Arthur.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something wrong with wanting to know the folk I deal with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon scratched his face with a hand. “I suppose not, but you seem to be poking into the places that some of them people up in their high towers do. I’m sure you know some of the big shots around here who like to take down the little guy just trying to crawl up through the roots. Bastard’s Gang, the Ramoni Family.” The pause between his words was long enough for the spit to dry from the back of Tommy’s throat. “Dream’s organization.” He turned to face Sapnap. “In fact, you look </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> like one of his old lackeys, Snapmap, or something like that?” Sapnap's eyes flicked to Tommy in an instant. </span>
  <span>That one single motion had probably single handedly blown their cover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was still a chance he could salvage it. “Oh right,” Tommy snapped his fingers. “You used to work for him, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap cleared his throat, his words unsure as he spoke. “Uh, yup. Moved on after his thing went too corporate.” Tommy had never needed to rank the worst performances he had ever heard, but this one both created the list, and put itself at number one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t sound too sure,” Simon tilted his head to the side slightly. “Especially when you bragged to a friend of mine the other night about being a hot shot in his organization.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman walked out from the back of the auto shop. She had long frizzy brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and bright red lipstick. “I was so very sad when you canceled our date today, cutie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy watched as Sapnap deflated almost completely. “You were </span>
  <em>
    <span>using</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh it appears that the cat is out of the bag,” Simon grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Sapnap’s voice was suddenly low. It was then that Tommy noticed that the woman wasn’t the only one to appear, and that some of the others were much more heavily armed than she was. “We’re gonna want to find a way out of here dude.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, I don’t think you’re going to.” Simon snapped his fingers, and in succession, Tommy heard weapons being cocked. “I think Dream will probably pay a pretty penny for your heads.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy found himself at an utter loss for words. The gun at his belt suddenly became a lot heavier than it was just a few seconds before. He was completely frozen, his hands slowly lifting from his sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it, after all of this planning, it’s actually going to work.” The man laughed. “It’s insane how stupid you all are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, he heard a soft, “Tommy, stall,” from Sapnap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy closed his eyes, and pulled the gun from his belt as he was raising his hands. He trained it in on Simon with a hand. He’d never fired a gun without two hands before, but he supposed that he was the world’s best at ‘fake it until you make it’, so he had to at least try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second he heard Simon’s people lift their own weapons in his direction, he held up a hand. “Do you fuckers know who I am?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A fraud,” Simon laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t even flinch. “I’m Dream’s newest sharpshooter.” The crowd seemed to flinch for him. “You know who Sapnap is, you know what he can do, I only got here recently. Fresh out from M16 training.” He dropped his accent back to its British tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon still hadn’t faltered, but the crowd behind him looked nervous. “You’re convincing no one here. Look at you, you’re practically shaking. You’re not gonna shoot me.” He relaxed his shoulders, and Tommy cocked the gun. “Come on guys, take him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir…” One of them spoke. “He doesn’t seem like he’s bluffing…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon seemed to stifle his breath, but kept talking. “Of course he’s bluffing. Do you even know how horrible your cover story was? Spreading rumors yourself, making a scene everywhere you went, talking to just about all of the right people. It was like it was amateur hour at the Cosmo!” The man tipped his head to the side. “Be honest, what are you, some rich kid’s son on a joyride, working for a big criminal organization? It really had the touch of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span> who has never done anything for themselves in their life. A spoon-fed, worthless, talentless-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trigger was almost too light under the sudden tug of his pointer finger. It went off loud in his ear, the recoil and the heat almost making him drop it immediately after it had fired. He wasn’t too far away from the guy, maybe less than seven or eight feet. Tommy had been aiming for his head, but it had nicked him straight through the artery on the left side of his neck. The spray of blood was like a fountain, and the man began to gurgle through his words as he clutched his hand onto the side of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything else happened all at once. Almost before the gun had gone off, Sapnap had bolted forward, Tommy could hear his footsteps even over all the nose. He’d kicked over the table the guns were on, sending them clattering to the ground. Sapnap had grabbed Tommy by the waist almost the second after the bullet had been shot, pulling them behind it. He could hear as the bullets rained down against the table. Someone was shouting for them to hold their fire, Tommy couldn’t even tell where it was coming from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was numb, everything was blurry, everything was too sharp, too much. He didn’t come back to himself until Sapnap was grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him up. Tommy came back enough into himself to play the role he was meant to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap was holding his phone out in front of him. Something was playing from it, but Tommy couldn’t place it. The voice sounded familiar. It sounded like it was making a deal. His eyes were locked on the glassy eyes of the body lying on the ground. Blood pooled around the man’s head like a halo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they were in the car. Tommy was driving somehow, when he came back to himself, he could first hear the radio, and then noticed that they were stopped at a stoplight, and then saw the street sign. When he dropped Sapnap off at the mansion, he didn’t get out of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Sapnap asked. “That was kind of a lot.” He was leaning in through the open window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be okay.” He took in a breath and turned to face him. “It was just a shock, I’ll come with you to a range or something, be ready for next time.” Tommy’s hands were shaking, they hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d fired the gun, but he wasn’t about to tell Sapnap that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” Sapnap nodded. “I like to hear that. Are you giving Dream the report?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, you want to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap rolled his eyes. “You owe me triple now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt like he was standing far outside of his body. “Triple?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One for the girl, two for saving your ass, and three for reporting to Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh. Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sat in the driveway for a long time, even after Sapnap had unloaded the car, and been long gone. He couldn’t go home. He wasn’t sure where he could even go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy arrived at a door anyway, one he’d never entered past before. He knocked twice, waiting several seconds before doing so again. Tommy repeated the process three more times before the door swung open, and he was greeted with an annoyed, “<em>what the FUCK do you want.</em></span>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stood in front of him, blinking blearily. “Tommy, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we talk?” Tommy asked weakly. “Tubbo’s not home...I had nowhere else to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight pause, and Tommy watched Wilbur relax. “Of course. Come inside.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Respite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>back atcha with the once a month fic updates B)<br/>i honestly meant to get the first part out much earlier, and i honestly don't know where the last portion came from but according to my brain, it's important &gt;:)<br/>to the person that just commented today - yes it was 100 percent you that made me go "OH YEAH I SHOULD UPDATE THIS HUH" so thank you for getting me on that</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur’s apartment was sparse and very millennial. The walls were painted white, with abstract murals, and wide, tall windows that looked down onto the street below. Tommy had sat down on the couch gingerly, Wilbur watching him, but not saying much besides asking if he wanted something to drink. He’d said no, but Wilbur went to the kitchen to make him tea anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m assuming it went poorly.” He raised his voice so he could be heard through the half wall that separated his living room from the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I killed him,” Tommy said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur leaned out of the kitchen. His eyebrows knit together with concern. “You contacted our people about that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sapnap was with me but…” his voice broke. “Have you ever killed someone Wilbur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure the guy was dead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shot him in the neck.” Tommy wrung his hands in front of him. His eyes were trained at a spot on the wood flooring. There was a mark there, probably paint, but it was dark enough to look like blood long dried. His words gurgled in his throat, “if he wasn’t dead from that, he probably bled out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he could hear Wilbur move around in the kitchen. Tommy winced at the whistle of Wilbur’s kettle. “If it helps you, it does get easier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you have killed someone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur moved around the corner with a tray in hand, two cups in saucers and a millennial pink tea kettle in the middle. “A gentleman never tells.” He set it down on the table in front of Tommy, taking a seat next to him. “Sugar, milk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sugar.” Tommy murmured as Wilbur placed a spoonful into the cup, before pouring the tea over. He pushed it into Tommy’s hands, who took it despite the tremor in his fingertips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got there, it went well, and then he knew who Sapnap really was. Some girl he was...it doesn’t matter. He tried to call me out, called me all sorts of stuff, said I was some rich kid, silver spoon, and all that shit.” His grip tightened on the cup. “I lost it. Coming this far, after all I’ve been through, it just made me feel like shit hearing all those things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you shot him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had guns trained on me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you shoot him because there were guns trained on you or because he bruised your ego?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes moved to look at Wilbur’s for the first time since he’d arrived. “Don’t be a fucking ass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what’s the answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, he said everything and I lost it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. You lost it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy slapped the couch with his free hand. “I said he provoked me! Don’t be a fucking prick!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned to look at him, a profound sadness to his voice. “Tommy. Grifters that lose it to little things, they die. I really don’t want you to die, man.” He put a soft punch into Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid, a smart grifter, and you can go far. It’s just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur paused, biting the inside of his cheek. “You’re impulsive, and brash, and you don’t think before you speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I don’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do!” He emphasized with his hands. “Nothing will land you in hot water quicker than not listening to your own words. I can understand your style, you like to go in guns blazing, if you</span>
</p><p>
  <span>d excuse the irony, but sometimes it’s better to take the time to listen, allow them to control the conversation. Or at least, let them believe they do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess…” Tommy lifted the cup to his lips. The smell of chamomile was rich and bitter on his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m sorry man, that you had to go through that, I should’ve realized that you weren’t ready yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fucking ready,” he spat back. “I’ve been ready since you hired me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I meant I should’ve known that you weren’t ready to deal with a situation with stakes as high as those. I mean, he could’ve killed you! I should’ve given you help and backup. That was on me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was being dumb.” Tommy murmured. “I should’ve double checked everything. I should’ve vetted Sapnap, asked for help from you, I shouldn’t have let him get the best of me. The trigger shouldn’t have been that easy to pull.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur grabbed onto Tommy’s shoulders and bent his neck to make sure Tommy was looking him in the eyes. “His death is on me Tommy, are you listening? Do not blame yourself for that, don’t let anyone else blame that on you, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of this, I could’ve kept from happening. Don’t blame yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy caught Wilbur’s eyes, his frown lessening slightly. “Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, good.” Wilbur stood from the couch and went back into the kitchen. “I’m gonna order take-away. You want anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to stay here for the night, right?” Wilbur leaned out from the kitchen. “I have a guest bedroom and plenty of disposable income to order you literally whatever you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Tommy pondered for a moment. The idea of going home to an empty house, where his thoughts had a louder echo chamber than his own head, where doing anything but trying to sleep would make him sick, and even then, he couldn’t imagine the dreams. He wasn’t even sure Tubbo would understand, he’d been so busy with his undercover job, that it was hard to talk, especially with conflicting sleep schedules. “Yeah.” He sighed softly. “That would be perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was odd, trusting someone like this. Normally it would make his skin crawl staying with someone like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but to be honest, the guy had grown on him. He was as just as smart as Tommy, though Tommy would never admit to that, with a wit and way that made him a powerful figure on the playing board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Tommy didn’t fear the backlash, another thing he wouldn’t admit, he would say that Wilbur was right up next to Dream in terms of sheer presence. The man was a force to be reckoned with, and Tommy was glad to have him as an ally, not an enemy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s driving me fucking insane,” Dream muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Schlatt?” George picked at his nails where he sat in the back of the limousine, one thigh practically over Dream’s. “You’ve been on about him for days, can’t you give it a break and let loose for once?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He scoffed. “I’ve been through everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone?” Sapnap asked. He sat across from George and Dream, his arms crossed against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I trust you two,” Dream refuted. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean us, but like, I meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He huffed out sigh. “There’s a lot of people to go through, Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think I’ve been doing in my office for weeks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, ignoring us like you always do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream scoffed, “I don’t ignore you. I’m busy, you both know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George moved himself away from Dream. “Well I don’t know, sometimes it feels like you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream placed a hand under his mask, rubbing his face. “Can we please not all fight tonight? This is supposed to be a nice appearance for Mayor Beast, in exchange for his help, and I really want to make it seem like we’re the hot bachelors of Vegas we’re supposed to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The limo came to a stop, and George unbuckled his seat belt, moving to sit next to Sapnap. “Too bad, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> going home together tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George-” Sapnap and Dream said in tandem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not playing your wife tonight, Dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not my-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well sometimes I feel like all you use me for these days is your face. All you do is disappear for months at a time, only to come home and hole up in your study, and then leave again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I promise you that when we get Schlatt, I’ll be around more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George let out a loud scoff. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t always say that!” He looked towards Sapnap. “I don’t always say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude...Every time you promise to be around more, you never are.” Sapnap rubbed the outside of his arm. “We were all so close before...now it feels like I barely know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The limo came to a complete stop, and they could all feel the air in the cab change. “It’s true,” George said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please…” Dream said weakly. “For me? This once, keep up appearances?” There was a long silence. As if all of them were waiting for the man who would open the door for them to make the decision, act as mediator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just…” Sapnap broke the silence. “Stop making us promise things if you keep breaking yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be around more now, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make us promises, Dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened. And three fake smiles, two held on faces who couldn’t force them up to their eyes, and one whose always existed on a mask, were illuminated in flashing lights. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for sticking with me lol<br/>your comments feed the beast, dear readers &gt;:)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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